


Sugar and Spice

by bertie_bees



Category: Craquaria - Fandom, Miz cracker/ aquaria - Fandom, RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Eventual Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, RuPaul's Drag Race References, Sugar Daddy, eventual angst, it's mostly pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-05-20 03:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14886648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertie_bees/pseuds/bertie_bees
Summary: Maxwell Heller, the man behind the Cracker, is catastrophically broke. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Max finds himself seeking some money (and comfort) from a Sugar Daddy. Giovanni Palandrani, while being exceedingly confident and aloof, has the money Max desires; if only he could offer a little bit more than a weekly wage.





	1. Chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a prompt for a sugar daddy fic (I don’t remember where from sorry) and thought I’d give the hungry mouths what they want. This is my first fic and it’s a slow burner, there’s two chapters without Aquaria (Gio because I use their male names.) Hope you like it, I'm new to AO3 and would appreciate ANY feedback (read me to filth, honestly, I'll take it on board.)

The apartment was a mess. The dirty, off-white paint was starting to peel and there was an unidentifiable odour that Max didn’t care to locate the source of. He made a small fortune working as a full-time drag queen; small being the key word. Drag was expensive, and earnings weren’t high for a little known queen, like Miz Cracker. Gigs in the New York scene were like Taxis; none for a while then they all show at once, and someone still manages to steal your cab. A day job was definitely not on the cards either; stuck behind a desk all day would leave Max’s creative brain a pile of scrambled eggs and Miz Cracker was too pretty for manual labour.  
“Just make a profile,” Monét sighed. “You don’t have to do anything, just make the account.”  
Cracker and Monét were inseparably in the New York scene, sisters and friends, they agreed on most things. But not this.  
“It feels like cheating. It feels…dirty,” Max shuddered.  
“Girl, I love you, I really do, but you need this money; on be half of the New York scene, who has been witness to the same teased out blonde wig thousands of times, please do it,”  
Max stared at the Sugar Daddy website open on his laptop screen; the neon tricks blurring his view, urging him to click the flashy “sign up.”  
“What if I meet someone,” Max paused.  
“That’s kind of the point, come on clever Cracker,” Monét nudged Max’s arm.  
“I mean, in real life. A Boyfriend. How do I explain that I’m some old bag’s trophy toy,” Max sighed.  
“You’re really going to pass on the opportunity to get paid to be pretty, for a guy you can not be certain will walk your way?”  
Max rolled his eyes. Monét was right; living in these conditions weren’t ideal. Max had declined taking multiple attractive guys home; mostly for the benefit of his flatmate, Mr Rattus. But he was getting older and finding a partner was essential; Monét and the rats were not ideal soulmates.  
Reluctantly, Max’s hand moved to the button. Biting his lip, he clicked, simultaneously cursing and praising himself for his “outlandish” and “unique” approach to getting by.  
“Right, let’s build you the prettiest profile and eat this pizza,” Monét beamed. She knew she’d won.  
Max mumbled a quiet, “Alright,” before Monét sighed.  
“Do the line, or else I’ll feel like I’ve trampled on a puppy,”  
“Okay Katelyn, it’s time for dinner,” Max replied, lacklustre, meekly picking up a greasy slice of pizza.  
Some would say Max was insecure. However, he hid it well; he’d never been the self-pitying type. It didn’t fit the Cracker brand. There was a reason Max wasn’t evident on the internet, masses upon masses of photos of Miz Cracker; videos of her twirling and lip-syncing. No Maxwell. No one wanted to see the man behind the magic; thats how Max liked it.  
“Monét,” Max paused, maybe out of dramatic tension, maybe out of dread of her answer. “I can’t sign up as Cracker, can I? I’ll have to be…Max.”  
Monét sighed, “I wouldn’t suggest it, Cracker will get creeps but Max will get money. You can’t hide behind a mask the whole time.”  
This brought another dilemma; there was not a single picture of Max, anywhere. He’d never taken one in his life. Sure he’d taken an abundance as Cracker, but it wasn’t the same. She was photogenic, the camera ate her up, Max felt wrong posing in his male form.  
A phone landed in Max’s lap.  
“Take a photo for god’s sake; I don’t care it it’s cute, sexy, kooky. Just take one. Pretend you’re Miz, harvest her confidence.” Monét replied, with a friendly malice that forced Max to do as he was commanded.  
Thousands. Or at least it felt like thousands to Max, thats how many photo’s were snapped. Front, left, right, high, low, over the shoulder, full body, no body; Max gave it all. Then the deliberation, which consisted of Monét suggesting that cock-eyed Cracker and peace sign princess were not professional or “appealing to the target market” enough to secure Max the daddy of his dreams.  
They decided on four; a cute one of Max smiling, full body, standing with a hip jutted out casually. An attempt at sultry, with Max channeling the Tyra smize, pursing his lips slightly. A kooky one with Max pulling the “oh well” face, shrugging his shoulders, that he’d moulded Cracker into thousands of times. And a candid of Max giggling at himself and his posing, to sweeten the deal.  
“I will never undermine a model again,” Max laughed as he uploaded the pictures to his, yet to be posted, profile.  
“No one can say you don’t work for your pay, girl. Upload the profile and get your ass to bed,” Monét replies, her motherly care gleaming beyond her tough exterior.  
Usually Max would quip back, “a drag queen never sleeps” to assert his comedy; but alas he was exhausted, the dread and indecisive thoughts weighing him down, and nothing sounded better than his bed.  
Max gave Monét a smile, rising from his space on the dusty sofa, calling a quick note for Monét to let herself out and and take the pizza with her, as he retired to his room.  
Max flopped down on his crummy single bed, contemplating. Max wasn’t stupid, he knew someone would message him, but he didn’t think they’d offer what he wanted. This slightly reassured Max, because he knew he was safe.  
He scuttled under the covers, sighing at the events that at taken place. Despite the reassurance of the fact that no one would contact Max, he still felt dirty. Rolling over, Max fretted the one key feature on his mind; sex. He knew he didn’t have to have sex with the aged employers, but he also knew no one gave anything away for nothing. Max wasn’t a virgin, but he was not greatly experienced in the field of sex, with everything considered. He’d never had a one night stand, partly to do with his flat and partly because every attempt led to him dropping a text for coffee or dinner a few days after. He was an emotional shag, and not infinitely proud of it. Max giggled to himself at the idea that he’d inevitably become attached to the attractive daddy of which spoils him with an abundance of jewels and gold and wigs.  
Max couldn’t pinpoint when the modern fairytale he was painting in his mind became a deep slumber, but he was thankful.


	2. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Give me some sugar, I am your neighbour.   
> Gio finally turns up, have fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, this chapter is very long, because it's important, the other chapters are shorter.

Max awoke to the sunlight streaming through his window; he couldn’t afford curtains, but he’d adapted to sleep through the morning gleam.   
He rolled out of his pile of blankets and sheets, swiftly avoiding the swamp of clothes inhabiting his floor, and swiftly opening the door.   
Max checked the time on the cooker: 1:30.  
“Early bird gets the worm,” He chuckled to himself, grabbing a bagel and chomping a bite out of it.  
Situating himself on his worn, second-hand sofa, max proceeded to do what he did best: channel hop while contemplating which Cracker look to experiment with next.  
He munched on his bagel, flicking through the channels aimlessly, as boredom and curiosity creeped into his mind.  
What if?  
Maybe someone did?  
Max made a grab for his phone, on the coffee table next to the couch. Dead. He scrambled to his feet, running the short distance to the charger in the kitchen.  
“Come on, come on!” Max urged, shaking his phone in frustration as the apple logo beamed onto his screen.  
Ping.  
One message.   
Max’s eyebrows furrowed at the disappointment. What did he really expect? He didn’t expect to wake up in the morning with a queue of attentive, rich men at his door; but he’d expected more than one message.  
“Okay Cracker, it’s fine,” Max muttered to himself. “Maybe it’s fate? This one will be my handsome, rich, manly donator.”  
Maybe he was avoiding the word. It still felt dirty. Besides, much to the amazement of the masses, Max didn’t dream of being dominated by a ‘daddy’ or anyone for that matter.  
“Quick fuck for cheap. Will pay extra for twink.”  
“Maybe not,” Max sighed.  
He placed his phone down, continuing to let it charge, and deserted it, defeated.   
Resuming his position on the sofa, Max let time pass him by without care, flicking through the channels until he fell upon a soap opera. The way the woman looks so sorrowful, brows furrowed, eyes pleading- this inspired Max.  
He felt himself venturing quickly, almost skipping, to his room to experiment. Max got into drag almost everyday; even if he didn’t perform he’d get paid to hang around in bars to attract business, sometimes. However, he never got into drag for fun anymore.   
Max started the tedious, yet therapeutic, routine of gluing down his eyebrows, creating a clean canvas. As the glue dried, Max felt the urge to grab his phone; placing it purely down to feeling disconnect for too long, in such a modern age.  
No notifications  
Max rolled his eyes, not even a message from Monét after she fled the scene of the crime last night, pizza in hand.   
Pushing it to the back of his mind, he continued his routine. Smothering his face in foundation, concealer, power, contour; Max took his time to transform his meek Max persona into the glamorous, carefree Miz Cracker. Maybe Max envied Miz Cracker; he envied the way she didn’t care, they way she could ride the subway in full drag and still smile and strut. He envied the way she stole all the attention in the room, the way she was so unapologetically her.  
Max was admiring his empty, clean canvas in the mirror (he looked more than slightly bizarre without eyebrows) when there was a ping.  
“Not again, thank you, no quick shag from this ‘twink’, sir,” Max muttered, forcing himself not to acknowledge his phone.   
Ping  
“What do you want?” Max whined, picking up his phone, finally.  
AquaG: Hi, I stumbled upon your account and liked your pics and whatnot. I would love to meet the man behind the account.  
AquaG: Lunch today good for you? You’re from NY right?  
Max paused for a second, he didn’t have much else to do and the guy seemed genuine. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea, meeting a guy he didn’t even know the name of, but Max still found himself tapping out a response.   
BCracker: I do inhabit the NY area, ever heard of Harlem?  
Max clicked to view the perplexing profile. No name specifically just the letter G, masses of pictures but none of his face, no age.  
“Well, that’s not shady at all, definitely not a murderer or a straight man with kids,” Max chuckled, shamelessly flicking through pictures of the mans slender pale framework. “Hot body though.”  
Ping.  
AquaG: Heard but never ventured. I’m guessing you want to discuss money and whatnot before committing to the lunch date?  
Max sighed, relieved he didn’t have to awkwardly approach the subject himself. The man behind the account was so confident and Max admired the way he perfectly blended professional nature of the lunch arrangement with lighthearted flirtation; he’d definitely done this before, Max thought, typing a response.   
BCracker: I almost forgot, how unprofessional of me, how much would you normally pay for a date? We can discuss further funds at lunch depending on how this goes, and how handsome you are of course ;)  
Max cringed to himself as he sent the message, he reassured himself this persona of flirting and winky faces was simply to attract some money and left no scars to the genuine perception of himself.  
Ping.  
AquaG: Hmmm, how about $1,000 for the date? I’ll book a table at this quaint Italian restaurant I know. I’ll send a car to get you in about an hour. Send me your address (in the least creepy way possible) and I’ll see you then. Oh and ask for Palandrani :)  
Max’s mouth subconsciously opened agape at the price offered. $1,000 for a date with him. Max quickly agreed to the price, typing out his address, before raising his head to be greeted by an eyebrow-less, dimensionless Cracker.  
“Fuck.”   
Max scrambled to get the makeup removing wipes; he had an hour to shower, do full grooming routine (incase the date would require that) and pick a cute yet professional outfit.  
“Well, Aquafina, what would you want to write a check out to?” Max chuckled to himself, contemplating if a bow tie was too formal for a lunch date, still scrubbing his face free of makeup and glue. Max decided that a bow tie was a yes, but to dress down, jeans were necessary.  
Max grabbed the ensemble of clothes, dashing to his small, half decorated bathroom. The spasming buzzes of the fan mocked Max as he stripped, catching a glimpse of a facade in the mirror, before he jumped in the cold, shower- minus the curtain.  
Max, surprisingly, liked his body; petite and pretty contrasting with the sharp angles of his male frame- which caught of lot of attention from men, but never long term attention.  
The water was freezing; Max recoiled as the water met his body abruptly, making an inhuman noise of dissatisfaction. Max fumbled with the dial on the shower, contorting his body to avoid the icy blades from the shower, changing the water slightly warmer for more comfort without increasing his water bill too much.  
“What am I doing?” Max stopped, mid armpit wash. “He could be a murderer, or a rapist, or a republican. He could be rude or dirty or… what if he doesn’t like my bowtie? Will he underpay me?”  
Max’s attention was snatched by his watch. Ten minutes.   
“Shit,”  
Max scrambled out of the shower, grabbing the nearest towel, damp, and dried his body as quickly as possible.   
Max had a talent for multitasking, which he blamed having fifteen minutes to get into drag for, which was highlighted as he brushed his teeth while getting dressed and styling his hair.  
“No need to groom, we’re a classy Cracker,” Max argued to himself.

He skipped to the bedroom, grasping his towel around his little body, as he hurried to pull on articles of clothing.  
As Max tied his formal shoes, he had decided to save his pretty pink ballet flats for the second date, a car horn sounded from outside. Max scrambled, still tying his let shoe, to catch a glimpse of the car his mystery date had sent for him, through his grimy bedroom window. Max gasped. He’d expected a vastly too expensive car for him to be paraded around in; a BMW, a Jaguar.   
He hadn’t expected a sleek, black limo to be parked outside his grubby apartment complex.  
Max flew out of the apartment, grabbing keys, a jacket and his wallet on the way out.  
“I’m going to meet a fancy man, in a fancy restaurant and I’m riding in a fancy car,” Max chirped to himself, as he skipped down the stairs two steps at a time (the elevator was almost always out of order.) He heaved open the door at the bottom of the stairs, trying to hold a classy demeanour.  
A man in his mid forties, white and definitely not thrilled at the sight of Max, rolled down the window.  
“Are you…BCracker, sir?” The man spoke through gritted teeth, desperately trying not to roll is eyes.  
“This is she,” Max replied, channelling a mock sophistication, pulling open the back door to the limo.  
“There’s champagne and strawberries in the mini bar,” the driver huffed, rolling the partition up.  
“Strawberries, what an aphrodisiac, that scoundrel,” Max chuckled to himself.  
He had to admit, as he alternated between munching on a strawberry and sipping his champers, he was enjoying the tip of the iceberg of luxury he’d recently experienced.  
The ride was far too short for Max’s satisfaction, suddenly his glass was empty, they were outside the restaurant and the anxiety had returned.  
Max wobbled as he ventured out of the limo. The restaurant was small and tucked away in the corner of a quiet highstreet; there were potted flower beds lining the front of the restaurant, a window allowing max to look inside. Candle light that flooded from the window lit up the dreary New York day; for two in the afternoon it was gloomy and darken quickly.  
Max was a weed in a flowerbed of roses, he didn’t fit here, but the didn’t mean he couldn’t revel in the attention he was going to receive, whether it be good or bad.   
Max adjusted his bowtie before opening the door, a gust of warmth meeting his body as he entered. He was met be a very clean cut, yet friendly, waiter.  
“Name sir? May I take your coat?”  
Max pondered on the name for a second, while unbuttoning his jacket.   
“Palandrani?” Max questioned.  
The server’s eyes shone, with something Max couldn’t quite place, smiling coyly at Max.  
“I’ll show you right though,” He smiled, leading Max down a small corridor, away from the rest of the restaurant. Max was lead out onto an empty porch; sheltered, hidden away by trees.  
In the centre of the porch was a small wooden table and chairs, painted a pastel blue; Max always liked pastels and pale tones that were so calming, they often reminded him to take a deep breath and let it all flow. They also reminded him of his mother, but he pushed that thought to the back of his head, as a tinge of guilt shifted over his body.  
Sat on one of the rustic wooden chairs was a man; he had his back to Max, but he could see the slender, sharp edges of the man’s body beneath his transparent shirt.  
Max turned to the waiter with furrowed eyebrows, the waiter returned with a smile, before turning on his heel, leaving max alone to contemplate why his antique sugar daddy had a full head of pitch black hair.   
“AquaG?” Max had intended this statement to sound confident and alluring, yet his mouth betrayed this command, as a questioning small voice asked.  
The man turned to face the source of the noice, smiling as his eyes met Max.  
Admittedly, Max didn’t believe in love at first sight, lust was completely different. He studied the way the man’s eyes crinkled shut as he smiled, his milky marble skin, his dark features.   
The only thoughts that Max could process was the young man’s body strewn across a bed for Max only. Then it dawned on him. Young.  
“Wait, what the fuck?” Max giggled, in astonishment.   
The man’s smile dropped and his eyebrows furrowed.  
“What’s wrong?” The man’s voice was soft and velvety but his words blurred into each other messily. “Do you want to sit down? I can get us some wine if you want or do you not enjoy day drinking?”  
“Will you get served wine?” Max quipped back, moving to take his seat.  
Mortified was an understatement; there was the slimmest chance he’d get attached to a grimy old man but this boy was beautiful; pale and sharp and glaring at Max.  
“I’m twenty-two, but thanks for the concern,” His almost black irises piercing into Max’s chocolate ones. He appeared confident, Max hated that.  
“Twenty-two year old and buying a date for the night? Tinder that dry? I’m sure there’s plenty of trade out there for a man like you,” Max knew he was trying to spite the man, maybe then he’d never have to go on a date with the fair waxwork again.  
A smirk played on the man’s plump lips, “I don’t…date, per-say,” The man took plenty of pauses as he spoke, confidently soft. Max made a mental note, collecting enough material to assert himself over the boy.  
“Too old-fashioned for you?” Max questioned, raising his eyebrow to mock the younger man.   
He didn’t know why it pulled at his stomach at the concept of the younger man being so intangible to him, alas his stomach was in knots.  
Cracks started to expose themselves as the young man opened his mouth, before quickly shutting it. Max considered offering the man a smile, a warm glint, but the statue hardened again; stopping Max from seeing any emotion behind his eyes.  
“I don’t think it would be fair to cheat people out of Giovanni; I’m a delightful handful, too much for just one,” The man beamed, but there was no emotion behind the smile.   
Max, normally, would’ve rolled his eyes at such a cocky remark; but he didn’t. He hated to admit it but narcissism was a good look on the man, and Max couldn’t help but feel a warmth as the young man smirked and praised his own existence.  
“Giovanni then?” Max diverted, raising a suggestive eyebrow.  
“Please, Mr BCracker, call me Gio,” The man remained cool, but something akin to comfort shined through, as his shoulders relaxed.   
Max cackled, “I’m Maxwell Heller, no need for formal introductions,”   
The man’s eyes emitted nothing but confusion, before Gio started to laugh quietly, yet daintily,  
“Where does BCracker translate from that?”   
Max decided that the giddy feeling that penetrated his stomach when Giovanni laughed was definitely, absolutely, anger, and nothing remotely akin to surface-level attraction.  
Max was not about to offload Cracker onto this beautiful man who may (or may not depending on how sweet he likes his dates) be paying his rent for the month.  
“We gotta keep some secrets here, don’t we?” Max said coyly, flicking through the menu on the table. Max toyed with the cool laminated sheet in his hand; re-reading the salad list, attempting to digest some of the information, but the only thing he could focus on was Gio staring inquisitively at him.   
“I suppose part of the contract is respecting your privacy?” Gio offered a small smile.  
“Oh, contract, yes,” Max had almost forgotten the real reason he was here, to earn money.  
“I suggest we order some food and then get…um, stuck in?” Gio stumbled, signally to an attractive waitress that they were ready to order. “What do you want?”  
“Um, Pasta salad?” Max questioned, his mind hadn’t successfully processed any of the vast array of meals he could have chosen, resulting in him guessing a mildly Italian-sounding dish. Gio beamed at Max, before translating Max’s order, in Italian, to the waitress.  
Max could almost feel himself dribbling over Gio’s bilingual tongue, and what other dirty things that bilingual mouth could do. Max attempted to shake this feeling, he attempted to regain his harsh ‘professional’ nature.   
“Shall we discuss arrangements for our next date…um, if you want to go on another date obviously,” Gio confidently mumbled, in his regular fashion, pulling Max back from the explicit words he wanted Gio to mutter to him in Italian.  
“Wait, you want a second date?” Max was bewildered that his previous belittling tone hadn’t urged Gio to back-off. “I was mildly rude to you, Giovanni,”  
A light blush fell on Gio’s pale cheeks at the mention of his name as he grew a shy smile. Max felt his heart soften and his stomach fluttered, against his will.  
“I like someone who can put me in my place; also, I relate to someone who’s a handful,” Gio smirked, slurring his s’s in the charming manner that was softening Max as they continued to speak. “Plus, your face and, I’m sure, your body help the decision-making process too.”  
Max stared in disbelief at the attractive young man, who thought he was attractive; Max ruled that Gio either underestimated his true beauty, allowing his access to any man on the gay spectrum, or he got a kick out of watching men suffer. Max, admittedly, had been called cute, and plenty of men had complimented his physique when naked, but he always felt they wanted something; sex, money, attention. Surely, Gio wasn’t fabricating anything to gain something from Max, he was paying Max to spend time with him, he could easily drop Max and find a man as equally attractive as himself. This caused Max’s stomach to sink; he needed this money and every minute with the man made Max feel more suffocated in Gio’s grip.  
Max was pulled out of his thoughts, as the same attractive waitress placed his food down on his placemat.  
“Handful?” Max questioned, a slight edge to his tone, finally registering what Gio had said fully.  
Gio laughed, louder and more confidently than Max had witness prior, as he played with his salad in front of him, “Maxwell, I mean no offence or whatnot, but you’ve given me severe handful vibes since you arrived, unless you prove me wrong I shall continue to perceive you as such.”  
“Well I can assure you, Maxwell Heller is the smallest handful you could grasp,” Max smiled at this pasta salad, gathering the pasta on his fork and placing it in his mouth.  
Gio smiled mischievously, not missing a beat, “Well, I can see that by your height, miss Polly Pocket; unless you’re describing something that is definitely not on the agenda for today’s meeting.”   
Max’s eyes widened, as a deep laughter erupted in him, trying to stifle it and keep his food in his mouth. Gio’s smile widened at every choked chuckle Max stifled; Gio’s eyes crinkled and Max’s stomach fizzed and he decided it was inevitable for him to want this man, to want his smile and his laughter to constantly backtrack his day. To want his tousled bed-hair across his chest in the morning. To want him as sinfully and innocently as possible; alas, Max knew this was not a possibility, regardless of his eager heart.   
“Shall we return to business,” Gio suggested, a wide smile still prominent.  
“Indeed,” Max smiled, anxious to have the business aspect of the ordeal on the table.  
“I shall pay for your company; take you on dates, bring you to my second homes and whatnot…I can even take you abroad. It depends what terms fit you best,” Gio listed, evidently on edge, attempting to offer Max something of satisfaction.  
“That, that sounds amazing Gio but, and I’ll have to be blunt here, what’s the physical-um- sexual arrangement?” Max grimaced at how harsh he sounds, forcing the subject upon Giovanni. Max questioned Giovanni’s nature and if it alluded to any sense of sexuality at all. He was certain Giovanni must have had plenty of sexual encounters; he was a marvel of marble and coffee contrast, of course he’d shared his bed with probable models or actors. God knows he was probably in the same social circles. This realisation triggered images of Gio writhing, moaning, tensing; images Max knew he’d shamelessly picture later. Therefore Gio’s reply caused a mild sense of disappointment.  
“Oh no, you’re… you won’t need to… basically, you shan’t be required to be explicitly physical with me- I mostly require someone to spend time with,” Gio mumbled in his charismatic way. Gio reclaimed his composure before he continued, “Despite my confident and, as some label it, my provocative nature, I’m not heavily sexual; my needs are small and always met.”  
“Explicitly physical? What does non-explicitly physical contact entail?” Max attempted to coax the stone man to share a little more, wanting to grasp any insight into the man’s mind.   
Max was starting to relax into his role as a delightful sugar baby, as his interest in Gio’s increased; Max was curious about the younger man, which was unusual for Max. Max took people at face value and often didn’t care to explore the layers deeper than the surface, until the ugliness in people began to surface beyond the seemingly sweet exterior they present, leading him to a lot of heartbreak.  
Gio giggled bashfully, hesitating to answer Max, “It’s fuckin’ stupid, so you better not laugh,”  
Max visually crossed his heart to signal a promise. Gio inhaled slightly, to signal the start of his ramblings, “I often seem aloof to people…I’m not sure why, people just assume I enjoy isolation but that’s not the case; in all honesty, I really enjoy human contact, like say after a long day a nice embrace or whatnot in bed, or not bed, wherever, is nice,” Gio’s cheek were becoming was growing flushed colour, as Max munched on his pasta salad, attempting to keep a straight face.  
“So,” Max started, a smile breaking through his serious facade. “You like to cuddle?”   
Gio blushed aggressively at this statement, drawing into himself slightly. Max felt his heart flutter at the idea of cuddling Giovanni, enveloping his warmth close to his chest, of course he didn’t feel inclined to share this feeling with Gio himself.   
“Well when you use that verb it sounds so…childish,” Gio spoke softly, which surprised Max, emphasising his embarrassment. Gio tended to speak quietly, but with an edge to his voice that gave him a flamboyant sharpness, allowing Max to hang to every slur.  
“Giovanni, I hate to burst your bubble of self-deprecating individuality, but every single person on this goddamn earth likes to cuddle; well mostly,” Max smiled, witnessing Gio soften at Max’s words. Max ate the last bites of his lunch before continuing,“So I’m required to cuddle and go on dates with you?”  
“Essentially yes,” Gio smiled, but there was an anxious edge, as he waited for Max’s reply.  
“That sounds great, um, I hate to bring this subject up so quickly but…pay?” Max hesitantly asked.  
“This is wild, but this is my first…Sugar daddy experience; what is your normal rate? I’m sure I can bend to it…I’m flexible,” Gio smirked, leaving Max mildly confused. Gio was definitely not consistent; one second he was a bashful cuddle-craving boy and the next he was a seductive marble marvel. Admittedly, Max changed his front the same way most people change clothes, but Gio beat Max at an entirely different, unpredictable, game.  
“Well shamblam, but this is my first experience too, so I’m just as blind as you,” Max smiled sheepishly. Gio stopped picking at his salad to look at Max.  
“Okay… So I suggest, we keep with the regular rates for dates, I’ll pay your rent every month…uh, plus obviously gifts and whatnot? Does that sound… satisfactory for you? I can increase your, um, allowance whenever,” Gio stumbled, repeatedly, making Max chuckle.  
“Works for me,” Max smiled, as the conversation turned to an awkward silence. He checked his watch. “Well, it was nice meeting you, but I should…probably go.”  
“Maxwell, should I PayPal the money orrrr cash in hand orrr?” Gio continued to intensify the awkward nature of the situation, yet Max found it weirdly endearing.   
“I will message you my PayPal, Giovanni,” Max smiled softly. “It was lovely meeting you, but I-“  
“We can do something else, if you like? I’ll pay extra,” Silence engulfed them. “Sorry, that probably seemed intense.”  
Gio attempted to laugh but it came out slightly strained and Max witnessed his faced fall, only for a second, but a crack appeared and Max saw the conscious side to Gio. Gio immediately resumed to stone; although, admittedly, it was a precious stone presentation, likely aquamarine.  
“Gio, I would, but I need to get home to my roommate,” Max anticipated telling Katelyn and Monét of the rollercoaster of a date Max had just participated in.  
“Roommate? Of course,” Gio smiled a small smiled. “Is he okay with this situation?”  
Max caught on, from the dull tone of Gio’s voice to the emphasis on the noun ‘roommate,’ what Giovanni was suggesting. Max tried to stifle a giggle, “I’m sure she’ll live with it, best friends tend to support your decisions,” Max stood from his chair, ignoring Gio’s shocked, embarrassed facial expression. “Um, Gio, can you ask for my jacket?”  
Gio smiled widely, excited to showcase his Italian talent to an audience again, “Of course, Max,”  
Gio confidently requested Max’s jacket to the attractive waitress, as she collected their plates; Max pondered if Gio mumbled and slurred adorably in Italian too, before dismissing the idea as ridiculous.  
The woman smiled and nodded, leaving the room, probably to get Max’s jacket.  
“Um, Max, admittedly, I seem extremely eager already; however, I have an…event and I was hoping you’d come as my companion?” Gio smiled, attempting to appear confident and self-aware.  
“Already?” Max asked nervously. “This is our first date.”  
“I’ll pay you $2000 for the party, Max,” Gio started. “You can stay at my apartment after- your own room course- I’ll make it enjoyable for you while also being good pay.”  
Max smiled meekly. Meeting Gio’s elite friends unnerved Max, especially under the circumstances; Max knew Miz Cracker would never forgive him for turning down that much money, especially considering how much he needed it, for his drag and his daily life. Yet, Max was already a weed in a flower bed, he cringed at the idea of being a poor weed in a rich flowerbed.  
“Of course, I’ll come, Gio,” Max smiled, as the waitress returned with his Jacket and the bill.  
Max continued to smile and his shrugged on his Jacket and Gio stood, placing money down on the metal plate, that held the bill.  
Gio moved to hold open the door and Max finally got to witness the confident sway of Gio’s hips and watch as the slim physique, he’d spotted on the app, came to life. Max commended the image of Gio’s ass shaking as he glided to hold open the door, to memory.  
“M’lady, after you,” Gio mockingly bowed, causing Max to chuckle.  
“Oh, merci, merci,” Max mock-swooned; swaying his hips, as he walked through the door, hoping Giovanni was watching.   
Max turned to face Gio, as they stood outside on the quiet, dark street, beaming at him.  
“Goodbye, Giovanni, I’ll see you whenever your event is then?” Max waved, but his legs refused to move, as Gio moved to kiss his cheeks, in a casual parting fashion. He kissed Max’s cheeks three times, alternating, before hovering on the third kiss. Max felt a shiver down his spine and a heat settle in his stomach, as he felt Gio’s breath brush the shell of his ear. Gio quickly retreated, as if catching himself, after a second. He smiled sheepishly, “It’s an Italian thing.”  
Max smiled and nodded understandingly, however his stomach still refused to settle; it fizzed as he stared contently at Gio.  
“Goodbye, Max,” Gio smiled, turning on his heels to walk away. Max offered a small wave, hoping Gio would turn around. He didn’t.  
Max turned and wandered, in search of the nearest subway, cursing himself (and Gio) for not securing himself a lift home. The New York streets were in full bloom, people of every kind swarming the streets, as Max smiled giddily to himself.   
Gio plagued his mind, but he made no effort to fight these thoughts, as he followed the signs home.


	3. Chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is smutty, it's tame self-gratification, but it's sexual nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but I think chapters like this is important to present characters fully.

“So he spent over $1000 on you and you’re complaining…because he’s attractive?” Katelyn questioned. Kaitlyn, Monét and Max were clustered on the sad sofa in Max’s apartment.   
Max had retold the entirety of the date and was nervously awaiting the feedback of his friends; he loved both Monét and Katelyn yet he always feared their honest reports.  
“Yes!” Max forcefully sighed. Monét rolled her eyes, a lack of sympathy, for Max’s apparent problems, evident in her demeanour.  
“What issues does his face trigger, Crackerjack, please enlighten me,” Monét quipped, sipping cheap wine from plastic wine glass.  
“Well it makes the inevitability of me getting attached all the more likely, Goddammit!” Max couldn’t sit still; it was as if Gio had sparked something in him that prevented him from sitting still without an odd fuzzing in all of his limbs.  
“But, there is more. A slightly more pressing matter,” Max started, taking a deep inhale. Monét raised an eyebrow awaiting Max’s pressing matter. “He’s twenty-two, for all the mercy in heaven, he’s this many!” Max held up two fingers on each hand to emphasise his point, his eyes widening to the point of scaring his company.  
“Shit,”  
Katelyn and Monét had suddenly lost their playful spark and were now loosely slightly doubtful and concern at Max.  
“I know, I know, I’m horrible for wanting to spend time with him,” Max started to pace faster, feeling his anxiety fizzle stronger in his stomach, urging him to word vomit every indecent thought he’d formed since leaving Gio’s company.   
“You’re not horrible, Miz, you’re not going to have sex, you both confirmed that; nothing wrong is going on,” Kaitlyn soothed. Max almost calmed, until the images of Gio hips swaying popped into his mind and how he’d grip those pale, sharp, hipbones if he was given the chance. He attempted to clear his mind as he estimated if Gio’s hips would be as sharp as blades or if he, unlikely, was packing any soft padding on his small frame.  
“No, obviously, I’m just worried that…I’ll get attached and end up making it inappropriate because this is…my job now?” Max was started to make Monét dizzy as he insisted continuing to pace.   
“Max, he’s your employer, not your boyfriend,” Monét started, her voice soft yet firm. “This twink can’t support you in anyway but financially, he says he doesn’t even date people, Cracks, you wouldn’t want a man like that anyway. Why don’t you casually date? It’ll distract you from Gio and you might bag a good shag. God knows you need it, girl.”  
Max was taken back by Monét’s suggestion; she knew dating was a difficult concept for him and he’d only just gained the confidence to sign up to the sugar daddy website (which had taken months of coaxing from both Katelyn and Monét) so the prospect of offering a satisfactory slice- a light facade that would blur his negative attributes, for now- of the real Maxwell Heller to a stranger for the night, terrified Max.   
“I’ll think about it, if I start gaining feelings for Giovanni. Honestly, I’m not willing to subject myself to that torture under any other circumstances,” Max yawned slightly, rubbing his eyes until the images appeared behind his eyelids.  
“Whatever ya say, Cracker, but we’re here for you,” Katelyn offered a small smile. Max knew she was probably feeling guilty for thrusting this catalyst of issues upon Max. “You should probably sleep, it’s your night off, you look tired.”  
Max smiled graciously as Katelyn’s dismissal; he could hear murmurs of hushed voices as he turned his back on the scene to venture to his, extremely, humble abode.   
Max shuffled into his dark room, the bed was still unmade, Max leant back against the closed door and sighed deeply. He pushed himself off the door slowly, exhaustion taking over every limb in Max’s body; Max stripped himself of his clothes, too tired to find any type of pyjamas, and crawled into his unmade bed, laying face down.   
He allowed himself, for the first time since meeting the marble marvel, to recount the day.  
A dull tingle settled in Max’s stomach as he recalled all the flirtatious innuendos Gio made; Max’s breathing became heavier as he twitch against his sheets as he grew hard.   
Max’s hand ghosted down his body, shifting over his prominent pelvis bones, stilling by Max growing dick. He softly stroked his semi-hard cock, feeling himself grow fully erect, as he pictured Gio’s soft, slurring voice edging him on, as his movements become firmer.   
Max let out small gasps, teasing himself, slowly circling his thumb across his tip, as he attempted to draw out his pleasure for as long as possible. Max struggled to throw himself onto his back, trailing his left hand down his stomach and pelvis until his hand fondled softly with his balls.  
He gasped, biting his bottom lip in an attempt to quite his moans. Max pictured Gio’s smile and the way his eye crinkled, picking up the pace of his hand as he pictured the way Gio’s hips swayed and how he smirked, confidently. Max breathed Giovanni’s name, under his breath, as he came over his hand, his legs stretching and tensing as short-lived pleasure took over his body.   
Max came down from his orgasm quickly, the sinking feeling of shame whipping him to the reality of his empty, cold room. He wiped his hand on a discarded t-shirt on the floor, and attempted to stop his bottom lip from quivering as he mentally scolded himself.  
“What the fuck am I doing? I need to sleep with someone soon, because this is not cute, Cracker,” Max sighed to himself. “Goddammit.”  
Max shifted to his side, closing his eyes, attempting to ignore the guilt that was consuming him, eating him alive.  
Max tossed and turned for the remainder of the night. All Max was able to pounder was whether Gio would inevitably cause charming chaos within Max’s life, even when he hushed his thoughts, he returned to the subject eventually, the stone boy was already consuming his mind and he’d only spend a few hours with the perfect plague.   
Gio didn’t particularly contort to Max’s ideal man; Max craved comfort and reliability, Gio offered neither. The only control Gio would ever allow Max would be in the bedroom, alas even that area was off limits to Max. Max was royally fucked, but he needed the money and to push any pitiful pining to the side to earn it, even if it meant Max needed to configure into Gio’s cold double. Max, surprisingly, was capable of icy; Max’s heart often lulled him into a naïve, warm sense of being, but his wit allowed him to chill a person’s blood within seconds. Max vowed to himself, as the waters of sleep devoured him, that if he felt himself falling victim to Gio’s charm, he’d bring an entirely different intensity to the term ‘giving the cold shoulder.'


	4. Chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max decides hits the gym, but he wants to hit something else ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it's taken so long to update, I've been so unsatisfied with my writing at the minute, hence why I've been so unmotivated and scrutinising. Also, tumblr has decided to hide anything I post in the Craquaria tag, so at least you can read this chapter somewhere.  
> I love any feedback, honestly it's keeping me going at this fine minute.  
> Please enjoy!

It had been days. Days since he’d seen Gio and he hadn’t contacted Max once; of course he’d transferred Max the money for the date and this months rent, but he hadn’t even thanked Max for the date or hinted to having had a good time.  
Max was sat on the sofa, alone, staring at the wall. He had spend an abundance of time contemplating why Gio hadn’t reached out to him, but now his mind was blank. Restless. Max was restless; he’d performed sloppily last night, even the night before, he'd lacked his Cracker sparkle, he didn’t understand why his mind was such a kerfuffle but he knew he needed to straighten out the jumble.  
Max pushed himself off the sofa and moved quickly to his room and to his wardrobe, pulling it apart for the one item of clothing he hadn’t touched in months.  
Max regularly went to the gym, despite it being a chore, he enjoyed keeping his muscular physique and spent as often there as possible; however, considering his job consisted of prancing around in heavy drag, Max found it easy to maintain his weight. Although dancing was a passion of his, Karate was truly want made Max tick, sports-wise.  
Max pulled his karate gi from under a vast expanse of Cracker costumes and attempted to brush the crumbs from the garment, before stuffing into a gym bag (along with his wallet and keys and his gym wash bag) and quickly shuffled out the apartment.  
After a short, and uneventful, subway ride, Max was striding into the gym, down to the changing rooms. Max quickly changed, in the semi-empty changing room, into his gi and shoved the rest of of belongings into a locker. He tied to key wristband to his wrist, absentmindedly, as he surveyed the hallway for an empty practice room, before snatching the first he found.   
He immediately started his routine, disregarding his usual warmup, attempting to rid himself of the scramble of thoughts that were consuming Max, like quicksand.  
He channelled his frustration and confusion and annoyance with every kick to the practice dummy, which towered over Max by a few inches; Max viewed as an almost ironic metaphor for his current state of mind, always attempting to write his problems into philosophy.   
Why hadn’t Gio messaged him? One Kick. What had he done wrong? Two kicks. Why did he care? Max stopped.  
“Why do I care so much?” He huffed, trying to catch his breath, returning his breathing to normal.  
Max continued to thrust kicks and punches upon the dummy, only pausing to catch his breath or to have a drink of water before resuming; this continued for an hour until Max suddenly stopped. An unsettling feeling had lodged itself in Max’s stomach; all of his instincts were telling him that he wasn’t alone, that someone was watching him.   
Max quickly surveyed the room, pausing as a shadow moved out of sight, through the glass panel in the door.  
“Hello?” Max asked, timidly. “I’m sorry, do you need the room? I can leave.”   
There was a brief shuffling before the door opened ajar and a familiar sculpture made himself seen.  
“That was a hot display, Maxwell,” Gio smiled coyly; he was dressed in Adidas track pants and a loose fitting muscle vest, evidently here to take part in some type of sport.  
Max’s demeanour become cold and hard, as if he became part of the furniture, as he rolled his eyes as Gio’s comment.  
“Thanks.” Max’s voice was pointed and lacked any inkling of emotion.  
“I thought we were past this cold shoulder treatment,” Gio smirked, his tone condescending.  
“You never messaged me,” Max sighed. “I’m slightly confused.”  
Gio smiled, assumed, “Our situation is…flexible, Max, I’ve been busy.”  
“I’m just not used to an employer that keeps his employees in the dark,” He shrugged, grabbing his water bottle and making a move for the door; Gio blocked his path.  
“This isn’t exactly a normal line of work, I sent you the money you earned and I was planning to message you the day before the event.”  
“That doesn’t give me enough time to sort things around the event, Giovanni,” Max felt deflated and foolish- Gio didn’t owe him anything, after all. “Can you move please? I need to change out of my sweaty clothes.”  
“Oh no,” Gio pouted. “Shows over? But I just turned up.”  
Max let out a laugh, which caused Gio’s face to break into a wide small, causing his eyes to crinkle in the way that knocked the wind out of Max’s lungs.  
Gio moved from his position in the door frame, allowing Max to exit them room; however, he remained on Max’s tail, following him to the changing room.  
“Why are you even here?” Max asked, pushing the door to the male changing rooms and holding it for Giovanni.  
“I dance in one of the practice rooms,” Gio smiled. “I’m a dancer, of course you’d know that if you’d done your research.”  
“Surely you have your own practice room in your mansion,” Max replied, condescendingly.  
“Coming here makes me feel more…normal,” Gio smiled, pulling his vest over his head. “also, I don’t live in a mansion, at least not in New York.”  
Max averted his gaze, knowing that subjecting himself to an intangible, desirable display would not work in his favour. He was starting to feel like a teenage boy again, unable to control his body when Gio graced his presence, physically or mentally.  
“I don’t think seeing each other undressed is very professional,” Max muttered.  
Gio let out a hearty laugh that hacked at Max’s stomach, causing him to turn to the now shirtless Giovanni.  
“You’ve seen my profile, right? I don’t have a lot to hide, Max,” Gio smirked. “Obviously, you do.”  
“Gio, I did have a peak at your profile, obviously, but considering my contract is non-sexual, we should keep our clothes on,” Max replied, hovering by his open locker.  
Gio’s smile dropped slightly.  
“Of course,” Gio sighed, emptying his locker of his clothes, and shuffling into a changing cubical, before turning back to Max. “Grab a shower, I’ll have one at home.”  
Max nodded, waiting for Gio to close the cubical door, before stripping off his gi and grabbing a towel and his wash bag.  
Max praised his lucky stars that the community showers were empty, but he still kept his boxers on, promising he’d have a proper shower at the apartment.  
Max leant back against the wall, allowing the water to wash over him, dragging his hand through his wet hair.  
How convenient, he thought to himself, of all the people to spy on him, at the gym, it would be Giovanni. Why did Gio, a person he barely knew, consume so much of his life?  
Max attempted to wash the sweat off of his body as quickly as possible, (not enjoying the way his wet boxers clung to his body or the way the other man clung to his mind) wrapping his towel around his waist and shuffling out of the showers as quickly as he could.  
Max rounded the corner, towards the changing rooms, as Gio exited one of the cubicles; Max hoped if he was quite enough, young man wouldn’t notice him; alas his head surveyed the room, locking eyes with Max’s. Gio’s eyes grew darker, his dark iris almost black, as they trailed down Max’s naked torso, a look of satisfaction plastered over his face. He was the cat that got the cream, and he wanted Max to know.  
“Well, I hope everything else you’re hiding is this…delightful,” Gio smirked, pushing open the door and leaving Max, without a second glance.  
Max rolled his eyes as a blush assaulted his cheeks. He pulled his clothes out of the locker and scurried into a cubical.   
Yet, he didn’t dress.   
He sat, in his cold, damp boxers, staring at the locked cubical door. Why was this happening to him? He let out an aggressive huff, allowing his head to fall into his hands. Suddenly a thought crossed Max’s mind, grabbing his attention vigorously: either Gio’s life has always paralleled Max’s and he’s never cared to notice the slender, stunning specimen, however Max was skeptical considering how drawn his was to attractive things, or Giovanni was deliberately altering his routine to coincide with Max’s. He felt giddy with the idea of Gio going to lengths, just to see him, before remembering drag forced Max to live by a broken routine, no structure; today, had been a completely spontaneous gym visit, Gio couldn’t have known he’d be here.  
Max lent against the cold, tiled wall, his cheeks flushing with a foolish red hue.  
Why was the world so determined to mock him?


	5. Chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giovanni's take on things. It's mostly pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry I’m getting progressively worse at uploading, I returned to college this week and realised how much time it took up! I am currently writing the next chapter so hopefully it’ll be uploaded a little bit sooner than the past few. This chapter is more Gio focused and gives a little more insight into him. Thank you all for being patient and giving me feedback, teamwork makes the dream work :)

Gio sauntered out of the gym, feeling coy, as he took confident strides to his far too expensive car (considering he didn’t drive.) He slid in the back seat of his slick, black car and nonchalantly instructed his driver where to go. 

Gio leant back and felt the cold leather of the seat cool his back, as he let out a sigh of satisfaction. He hadn’t intended to run into Max, or even communicate with him after discovering him in the practice room, but he was glad he had. Watching Max squirm under Gio presence was infinitely more enjoyable than a boring, lonely shower; Gio felt similarly to a cat, toying with the family’s canary, when Max was in his company. However, Max was a courageous canary and always attempted to bite back, but, Gio felt confident that the small man never ventured too far from the palm of his hand. Gio rolled his eyes at the childlike cliché: running into Max personified the fact that he was constantly running the clogs in Giovanni’s mind. 

The car slowly came to a stop, Gio pushed the car door open, throwing a short ‘thanks’ over his shoulder, as he exited. 

Gio’s apartment towered over New York city, allowing him to spy upon the city while sipping his morning tea or before venturing to bed. Gio enjoyed observing, despite his prominent roots in the spotlight, he enjoyed the anonymous nature of watching.

He fumbled with his keys, allowing himself entrance to the lobby of the apartment complex.

He forced a smile to the receptionist, attempting to scurry by without being forced to make idle conversation. Speaking, in general, was not his strong point, and repeating words or sentences, due to his mumbling or slurring, made Gio envious of objects that could combust. A trait Gio appreciated in Maxwell was his ability to understand his ramblings and stumblings, allowing him to converse in comfort, it made him want to make idle chit chat with the mousey man for hours.

Gio pushed open the door of his apartment, recalling what Max had said, about him not calling the older man back. 

Gio felt a blanket of guilt smothering him; did Max think Gio was wasting his time? He attempted to wriggle free of the feeling, reminding himself he had intended to message Max when he had a plausible reason, Gio didn’t want to pester Max, he felt the short man also had a short temper in regards to Gio and their situation, he feared by messaging Max he’d jeopardise the comfortable arrangement they had reached. 

The answering machine blinked, accusingly, at Giovanni; Sharon had called. Twice. She’d even recruited Alaska to leave him a brief message, pleading him to call soon for a ‘catch up.’ 

Gio loved his mother, truly, her eccentric ways moulded the very core of his being, providing a stable foundation for him to grow freely. Gio never wanted to deny his mother, however, there was a reason he refused to take her name; the fame and attention that stalked the Needles name never rested, it felt like a leach that extracted the ease from Gio, mercilessly.

Of course, the Needles franchise had provided, lovingly, for Giovanni; from music to fashion, Sharon had done anything to stay in the spotlight, and the millions. Surveying his apartment, there wasn’t a single item present that wasn’t due to his mother’s money, Max instantly clambered into Gio’s mind (because sadly no money, meant no Max, which dampened Gio’s day a little more than he cared to admit) he tried to expel the thoughts. Yet on a rare occasion, he did long to be normal. Cry me a river, he scolded himself, there are people dying, Giovanni. 

He rolled his eyes, quickly jabbing the delete button, on the answering machine, ignoring any traces of guilt that remained.

Gio threw his gym bag down on the dark, wooden floor, abandoning the answering machine to stalk his cupboards for coffee. He impatiently paced his kitchen, taunting himself on the mundanity of his daily life. 

Giovanni had be smuggled into gay clubs since he was sixteen, yet he’d never considered himself a wild child per say; in the grand scheme of life Giovanni had done very little, of course he’d been catastrophically drunk multiple times, and he was inclined to frequently getting stoned, mostly alone. That’s how Gio spend most of his life now, alone, hence his excitement, and intense anxiety, when Dustin informed him of the party. Gio was consumed by a shiver of embarrassment as he recalled begging Max to attend with him; he wasn’t certain if he purely wanted to spend more time with Max or if he found comfort in the idea of someone who can actually understand him, by his side, during one of the hectic parties some of his club acquaintances threw. 

There were two types of people that cropped up, occasionally, in his life; the reserved, calming yet motivated artists and businessmen he’d met through his mother, or the one year he attempted at art school, and the crazy club kids, that showered Gio with artificial adoration, due to his mother’s fame. It was nice he still crosses their mind, from time to time, Gio laughed to himself. 

He sipped his machine made cappuccino, sighing contently, maybe things were looking up, finally. Giovanni smiled to himself, thinking back to Max in his gi; he wondered if the laughable juxtaposition, of small, cute Max fighting, overpowered how undeniably hot he found the concept. 

Gio blushed, involuntarily, as his shoulders rised slightly just at the thought of Max breaking boards with his hands; however, this thought instantly evaporated as he caught a whiff of himself.

Gio always pushed himself while dancing, today was no different; admittedly, he’d hoped it would override the thoughts of Max that had been antagonising him for days. It hadn’t. 

Sharon had, shamelessly, pushed Gio into dancing at a young age; ballet, ballroom, contemporary, he was a part of every class. He’d hated it when he was younger, but now it offered relief and a sense of satisfaction, he loved watching his body move for softly and elegantly yet in a way that is sharp and pointed; the most beautiful oxymoron he could fathom. Gio knew his mother wanted to keep art in the family, he knew she was vastly disappointed he was unwilling to live his life on stage, although she always claimed she was proud of her only son. 

“Girl, that smell is wild!” Gio giggled, pulling his vest off and abandoning it on the floor, he’d deal with it later, right now he needed a shower.

Gio walked similarly to a proud lion, through his apartment, oozing confidence even doing mundane tasks like showering or walking through an empty house. 

He fiddled with the shower dial, in the wet room, stripping his body of his running pants while waiting for the shower to heat up. Sometimes Gio considered the possibility that he was cold-blooded, he was never satisfied unless the water almost scolded his skin; ironic considering everyone considered Gio similar to ice, due to the lack of warmth he shared. Gio hated this perception of him, he hated that people were so quick to call him rude or cold or aloof, yet if he showed even a glimpse of kindness, he was fake or trying to achieve something; it was a fight he’d never win, so he never fought back.

Gio let the boiling stream flow over his thin frame, refusing to hold back a comfortable moan. HE smiled giddily to himself, contemplating if Max was a shower man or if he preferred baths, this was the trivial insight into Max, Giovanni craved; he wanted to know what type of food he liked, what type of movies he enjoyed, what type of lover he was. Shamelessly, Gio pictured the last question, as the warmth, from both the water and the mental image he was conjuring, settled in his stomach.

Gio exhaled heavily, as he felt the blood flow to a destination he had been avoiding, he quickly fumbled to make the water intensely colder. 

Giovanni was not apposed to touching himself, quite the opposite, surprisingly, he relied extremely heavily on self-gratification to fulfil his needs; but he couldn’t do it to Max. 

He respected Max, as much as he felt his body being engulfed by heat and lust, which was unusual for Gio, he felt as if he was taking advantage of Max, picturing him that way.

Gio let out a hiss of discontent, as the icy water touched his pastel skin, however the heat that was expanding seductively through his body, froze quickly. 

Gio moodily switched the shower off, he sacrificed he supposed relaxing shower for the sake of his morals, that didn’t comfort him, as he shook like a puppy that had been drenched with the garden hose; He scurried into his bedroom, even his thick, expensive towel didn’t warm him.

Gio had nothing to consume the rest of his day, thus deciding lounging, lazily, on his kingsized bed was ideal. 

Gio allowed Max to cross his mind, he didn’t bother to keep count of how often he found Max in his mind anymore, which subconsciously triggered him rise to his feet, dashing to find his phone. 

Gio plunged his hand into his gym back and withdrew his pristine phone, throwing himself on the large, black leather sofa, positioned in front of the one-way glass wall.

He thumb hovered over the sugar dating app, cursing himself for not asking for Max’s number, praying Max hadn’t deleted his account. 

Gio was mildly deflated when he ventured to Max’s profile to see he’d been active recently, admittedly, they hadn’t taken a blood oath to stay loyal to each other but Gio felt he was being generous enough to maintain Max’s attention. He made a mental note to up his game, as he selected the chat option. 

Gio intended to make Max aware of the when the party was, however, he smirked as he decided that didn’t restrict him from being ever so charming and flirtatious.

AquaG: Hello, darling, just thought I’d make you aware I shall be requiring your services on Friday night. The party starts around ten, until dawn, but I’d appreciate your presence at my apartment prior to the party, I want to ensure you look good on my arm ;)

Gio smirked, before sending Max another message, playfully hoping to irritate the younger man, as delightfully as possible.

AquaG: You can rest easy now, I’ve finally messaged you. You’re welcome.

He sat back, mirroring a smug cat, browsing social media and rolling his eyes at the comments praising him for his appearance; Gio was aware he was attractive but it never satisfied him as the comments surrounding his personality always swarmed his brain. 

A ping pulled him from his judgemental scroll. Max had replied far quicker than he’d expected.

Gio beamed as another ping rang, revelling in the attention he was receiving from his employee. 

BCracker: I’ll clear any plans for Friday night, obviously we’ll need to discuss specific matters as alcohol will be involved and I’d appreciate your input on what is acceptable.

BCracker: I wouldn’t flatter yourself, Giovanni, I didn’t lose any beauty sleep

Gio smiled at Max’s harsh tone, of which he had become weirdly attracted to, that was permeable through message as well as physcial conversation. Gio refused to abandon his shameless flirting ship, quickly replying to Max. 

AquaG: What a shame, I had hoped to pay you back for your suffering :(

Giovanni didn’t care if Max mocked him, which he imaged he did, but purely in an affection manner, he payed Max to swoon at the end of the day, and he wanted his money’s worth.

Max replied instantly, making an already smug Giovanni infinitely more proud of himself. 

BCracker: What do you want me to wear for the party?

Despite Max ignoring Gio’s advances, Gio didn’t miss a beat, he let out a self-righteous chuckle, typing a short but sweet message.

AquaG: As little as possible.


	6. Chapter six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting the party started, but Gio is less than impressed by Max's choice of attire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I took so long to update, I was away from my laptop for a few days, but I promise there is more to come. I decided to split this chapter into two parts, due to it's importance at pushing the story forward and the length of the chapters. I hope you enjoy, any and all feedback is always welcomed!

Friday had crept up on Max; he now stood, underwear clad, staring hopelessly at his wardrobe.   
Max had no Max clothes that fulfilled Gio’s crude specification, although, as an act of rebellion against Giovanni, he decided he wanted an outfit that covered every scrap of his light golden skin.  
He thrusted his hand, blindly, into the wardrobe, feeling for something thick and woollen; Max was like an arcade machine, grasping tightly to an item of clothing and extracting it from the closet.   
Max grinned wickedly, staring down at his black turtleneck sweater. He contemplated wearing the thick sweater to a, likely, sweaty club part, Giovanni would definitely not be impressed; Max held the woollen sweater in triumph, cackling as he imagined how irritated Gio would be.  
Maybe Max craved covering his body for reasons contrasting to pushing Giovanni’s buttons: Max saw the way Giovanni had investigated his body, with a seductive stare, in the locker room and since that minute he’d be insulted with insecurity. Max had been an athlete since he could remember, his body had always been satisfactory and a topic of flattery, but when the gaze of the effigy was granted upon him, his confident faltered and he found himself scrambling to cover anything of possible interest. He felt like prey, and Giovanni would definitely revel in the delight of having a hold over the older man. Max sighed, feeling guilty for perceiving Gio in such a manner, he was generously keeping Max afloat at the minute, and Max was close to drowning.  
He had around an hour before the car, to Gio’s apartment, arrived (Max had remembered to ask Giovanni, as nicely as possible, to provide transport.)  
He grabbed a pair of jeans and his, admittedly slightly nicer than normal, boxers and paced to the shower. He’d casually increased the temperature, before discarding his underwear and throwing himself under the warm water, mentally thanking Giovanni for allowing him the privilege.   
Max made a grab for his razor, and lathering shaving foam precisely, before stopping.  
“Why am I bothering?” Chuckling at his foam-clad pelvis. “Gio isn’t trying to get in my pants,”  
Max ignored the conflicting feelings of relief and disappointment as he washed the foam from his body. He scrubbed his body with a cheap vanilla body wash, praying that the smell would last the night.  
Max adored light and breezy smells, which, grudgingly, he was aware was deathly stereotypical for a gay drag queen, he went as far as to use female deodorant, who’s target market was likely preteen women due to the less than seductive scent, on a daily basis. He liked to belief the sickly sweet, rot your teeth to the core, scent masks the stink of Max’s bitter nature.   
He abandoned the shower, and towel, allowing his body to air dry as he studied himself, scrupulously, forcing his eyes to comb every part of his reflection. He needed to shave, a shadow was starting to mask the lower portion of his face; yet he admired the natural, masculine contour it offered him, thus pointing Max to ditch the razor and shaving cream for the night.   
Instead, he opted for slathering his body with, yet another, dollar store lotion, designed for the subtle, sensitive skin of the preteens of America, smiling at the light shine that coated his skin.   
Max brushed his teeth aggressively, hoping to distract him from the anxiety that had now settled in his stomach, allowing the minty suds to clean his mouth and sooth his mind. He’d found himself over-analysing every dust sized details; Max wasn’t anxiously about the party, or the way he would be perceived by Giovanni’s peers, but the concept of being in close proxemics to, he assumed, a barely clothed Giovanni. Why was he so weak? Why was he so desperate? He was fawning over a barely legal trust-fund baby who’s, confessed, bratty streak was yet to voice itself; yet Max was sure when it did, it would command the spotlight.  
He was staring to fit the jigsaw pieces into place: Giovanni was an intimately intangible fragment of Max’s daydreams, that clung to Max like a bad smell. Giovanni was like a confident butterfly that would naively sit in the palm of Max’s hand, yet always escaped his grip, because regardless of how close the men would find themselves, it would always be a professional arrangement between an employer and his employee.   
He spat the masses of white foam into the sink.  
He quickly pulled his clothes on, ignoring the way his fading black jeans clung to his lotion greased legs, quickly checking his watch briefly after yanking the thick, rough, material of his turtleneck, making a mental note to invest in some fabric softener.  
He was late. Again. Max’s life was starting to litter with ironic parallels, yet Max remained forcibly naïve, it was far easier for him that way.  
He dashed to the shoe rack, one pair of shoes catching his eye instantly, quickly shovelling his foot inside the rose-gold sneakers, instantly standing taller due to the small platform that, admittedly, had forced Max to part with the money for the shoes. He tied the ribbon lacing the shoes in a bow and stomped slightly, joyfully enjoying the extra inch, to the small, grey window in the corner of his room.  
The sleek black limo, still, stuck out like a sore thumb in a neighbourhood where the sun never shined, Max rushed to the door, attempting shake the metaphor that maybe Gio was his limo.  
The elevator was still broken, and Max still hurdled down the claustrophobic stair well, two steps at the time; but the man was no longer a mystery, he had become so painfully familiar, in fact, that if Max thought about it for so long an ache swarmed his brain.   
The same driver rolled down the window, far more content with the name he was required to call.  
“Maxwell Heller?” He questioned, with far less tension, much more comfortable than referring to the small man as BCracker.  
Max offered a small nod, shuffling into the back seat, helping himself to the champagne, finally comfortable with the royal routine Gio had enabled him to live a fraction of.  
Max watched wistfully, observing how the buildings grew bigger and the people become progressively more fashion clad, the further from his home, and the closer to Giovanni, he got.   
Initially, when the car stopped, Max assumed it was traffic, yet the car didn’t move.   
“We’re here…sir,” the driver informed Max, his mood translating into his harsh tone.  
The building was modern, seemingly an office space for a large company in New York; as Max abandoned the car the building loomed over him.  
Was he suppose to just buzz the buzzer or was it so fancy a woman will escort him to Gio’s chambers, personally.  
Max braced himself, as his shaky finger pressed the buzzer for a ‘Mr Palandrani’, softly. The confident buzz scolded Max for his sheepish nature, shouting for Gio’s attention.  
“Who is it?” A timid voice asked, through the speaker. Max furrowed his eyebrows. Surely this wasn’t his Giovanni; Gio had been so confident even as he slurred, he had every sense of conviction, his cocky tone and demeanour, shamelessly, angered and insulted a heat in Max’s body, that he couldn’t shake. But the voice that sounded over the speaker did neither, all it provoked was confusion and pity.  
“Gio, it’s me. Max,” Max attempted to cheer back, attempting to compensate for both of them.  
“Oh, come straight up, baby,” Gio called back, a confident punch on every word, especially the last.   
Max’s stomach instantly flipped to the degree that Max swore it would make him dizzy. Baby. Who did he think he was? Yet, he didn’t have the conviction to put any malice behind that thought, it was more of a genuine question.  
The buzz of Gio unlocking the front door shook Max, for the second time, to reality, commanding him to shuffle into the building, in which he seemed so out of place.  
He stood, apprehensively, in a large open space with a sleek white desk to the fair right, paralleling a wall of elevators. Behind, said sleek desk, stood a woman; she had shoulder-length hair that flung itself wildly as she waved rapidly at the short man, a smile consuming her face.  
“Hello sir, who are you here to see?” She beamed.  
Max thought it was bizarre to be under this much pressure to simply see his employer, this wasn’t MI6.  
“Giovanni Paladrani, we’re…friends,” Max paused briefly. They were not friends, their relationship was purely professional, yet bringing business home would not have sounded appropriate. However, some would argue, Max’s line of work wasn’t particularly appropriate.   
The woman looked taken aback at Max’s answer, as if he had suggest the most impossible cause for his presence in the sickly, proud building.  
“Mr Paladrani?” She questioned in disbelief. “Dark hair, thin, quiet? Sorry, he never has visiters, he always seems…aloof.”  
Max would have laughed at the last comment, yet something in his gut urged him to defend the man, to take offence on his behalf.  
“That is the one. He has an abundance of friends, he’s just very…private, he doesn’t bring many of them to his home, unless he’s close to them,” Max was fabricating the warming scenario as he went along, secretly revelling in the prospect of being so important to Giovanni that only he was invited to his highness’ chambers.   
The woman smiled, knowingly, prompting Max to silently congratulate himself on his acting ability.  
“He’s the top apartment, take the elevator to the highest floor, he’s the only occupant,” She smiled, Max questioned if her graciously handing out Giovanni’s apartment was in his best interest, but was thankful that it was given to him instead of someone attempting to take money from youngester. Max instantly felt bile crawling his throat as he entered the elevator, remembering that he was, indeed, taking money from Giovanni. Max jabbed the highest button, too busy arguing with his inner monologue to truly appreciate how many rows of buttons there were.  
Giovanni paid him by choice, he wasn’t forcing the younger man to comply, Max hadn’t even expected a second arrangement after the first, it was all Giovanni’s call. The ball was very much in his diligently groomed court.  
The elevator music muffled away as a harsh ping, and opening of doors, signalled his arrival on the floor. Max stepped out, taking in the brightly lit corridor in confusion. There were multiple doors, yet only one had a door number and a house bell, Max made a mental note, to enquire into the bizarre corridor of blank doors, that oddly reminded him of an Alice in Wonderland-esque world of doors leading to nowhere.  
Max gingerly knocked the door, looking down at his shuffling feet. He waited. Max could hear the distant chattering of feet on wooden floor, becoming gradually louder as they approached the door.  
The door swung open, without hesitation, revealing a grinning Giovanni.   
He was clad in a distressed white vest, and his uniform Adidas tracksuit bottoms; however, for possibly the first time since their meeting, Max was not focusing on his body.  
Gio showcased a blue smokey eye, something not uncommon in the drag circles Max ran in; if his crawling could be considered keeping up with the other queens that he would make idle conversations with at work.   
A small silver loop hung from Gio’s septum, urging Max to, affectionately, roll his eyes at the lengths Gio would go to in an attempt to grasp any attention; Max ignored the irony, forgetting that Miz Cracker was all a scheme to bask in the limelight that never shone in his masculine form’s direction.  
A night sky’s worth of fake freckles speckled Gio’s face, making his sharp features drastically softer, providing a childlike edge to the young man, that Max didn’t need to be brought to his attention.  
The charmingly manic smile dropped immediately at the sight of Max, a dull annoyance smothering the thin sensation’s features.  
“No,” Gio deadpanned. “I can’t see a single centimetre of skin, Maxwell. Is this a game?”  
Max beamed, cackling a reply, “This is no game, Giovanni, this is my most sensual outfit, goddamnit!”  
Gio rolled his eyes, twirling on his heels, leaving Max at the door to welcome himself in.  
The mouse of a man shuffled in, closing the door behind himself, careful not to dirty the immaculate apartment with his presence. He was suffocated with apprehension, following Gio’s confident steps through the corridor, into the open apartment. He had to hold back a gasp of awe: the living room was larger than Max’s entire apartment, filled with simple, sophisticated furniture and a wall painted with the New York skyline.   
“It’s amazing here, Gio, I could probably see my apartment from here,” He smiled, awestruck.  
“Thanks, I suppose it’s home,” the monotone was missed on Max, who continued to stare out the window in wonderment. “That’s not the pressing matter here, Max.”  
Max turned, standing awkwardly, in front of a lounging Giovanni, who was surveying him with an ever growing look of annoyance.  
“I gave you specific instructions, I’m not taking you with thing,” Gio said accusingly, standing to tug at Max’s sweater.   
“Shall I go home now then?” Max teased, attempting to hold back a smirk.  
Max was worried the strain Gio was probably causing to himself, by rolling his eyes to the aggressive degree he was.   
“For christ’s sake, sit down,” Gio shoved Max, lightly, to the sofa. “You need to give a guy something to work with and this turtleneck is not it!”  
“You can work with this,” Max protested, from his positioned on the sofa. Max watched Gio standing, hands on his hips, feeling heat creeping up his neck at the proximity between his head and Gio’s crotch. “You could style this nicely!”  
Gio let out a hearty, frustrated laugh, “that’s not the type of work, I was talking about. I don’t mean to be blunt, but no one is getting hard over the inch of neck you’re showing; it would be like shaking hands with a piece of mozzarella.”  
Max’s mouth hung open at Gio’s crude simile, his cheeks blushing violently; Giovanni had never been so blatantly sexual prior to this interaction, of course he had flirted coyly with him but he’d never truly mentioned the topic, Max attempted to ignore the weight and wanting in his lower region.  
“You don’t need to show skin to be sexy,” Max argued, choosing to ignore Gio’s bluntness. “I’ve never shown skin and I’ve had multiple sexual partners; I’m sure you’ve brought men home without getting naked, Gio.”  
Gio opened his mouth, his face softening, but no noise met the ears of the room, he shut it promptly, deciding that sharing with Max was not appropriate this early on.   
His face became blank, the light being extinguished from his eyes, the ice statue had returned, prompting Max to question what he had done to offend the cold creation.   
“You’re different- we are very different,” Gio sighed, placing himself as far away from Max, on the sofa as possible.  
Max cocked his head, inquisitively, subconsciously moving closer to Gio, “how so?”  
Gio looked at Max in a way that urged Max to feel stupid for even questioning the younger man, of course they were different: Max was the light in everyday where Gio resided in the shadows, Max showed himself through his words where Gio failed to string them together. Max was poor where Gio was not.  
“You could talk a guy into bed, you have a personality,” He was emotionless, a stone statue. “They don’t see mine, they think I’m glass or something.”  
Max looked at the man, shamefully agreeing that he was a stain glass window of a man, cold but beautiful and full of so much colour.  
“Gio, I’ve seen sparkles of you, but you’re holding back, thats why you seem cold and blank,” Max attempted to seem comforting, yet he realised he probably seemed condescending. “You pay me, you’re my boss, you shouldn’t care what I think.”  
Gio stood up, huffing slightly, throwing a simple, “Well I do,” over his shoulder.  
Max sat in the empty living room, the silence engulfing him, cursing himself for bringing the conversation to such a bitter edge.  
Gio reappeared in the doorway, leaning casually and folding his arms, defensively, across his chest, a displeasing look clinging to his features.  
“Are you coming?” He deadpanned. “I need to fix this outfit.”  
“Um, yeah, of course, sorry,” Max stumbled verbally, rising timidly from the sofa to trail after Giovanni. Gio smiled widely, for the first time since seeing his outfit, his eyes twinkling with entertainment.  
“Don’t come for my speaking gig, girl,” Gio smirked. “There can only be one verbal cripple, thanks.”  
Gio turned on his heels, swaying down the corridor, as Max shamelessly watched his hips sway, he trailed, like a lamb, after Giovanni.  
They arrived, shortly, to Gio’s, far from, humble abode; Max stood in awe of the room, a common theme of the day, so far. The room was a charcoal colour, to the far right of Max was the view of New York, made so tiny by the height of the building that he could of swore he’d played with a similar play-set with his sister’s barbies, as a child. Art was scattered across every wall: abstract, realistic, yellow, blue; they added a glimmer of colour to the otherwise dark, dull room. Max felt it was the perfect metaphor for Giovanni, but would never voice this idea to the young man, in fear of being mocked casually. Max’s attention was drawn to the vast expanse of bed, pushed against the glass wall; he pictured Gio waking up, sprawled, naked, across the bed. Max felt no shame in imaging the man sleeping in the nude, he felt it was the exact carefree millennium nonsense that Gio bought into. However, he was engulfed by a sheer fog of embarrassment as he contemplated the idea of being wrapped, softly, next to the milky, smooth expanse of skin, unspoiled by clothes.   
Gio, moved to open a door, leading Max to the most amazing fantasy, he could only fathom in his wildest dreams: Gio’s walk-in-wardrobe was immense, garments of every type hanging from every available part of the room. Shoes, bags, shirts and almost criminally tight trousers, the room was cramped and Max’s broad smile was glued to his mouth.  
“This is amazing, Gio,” Max sighed, blissfully.  
“Really? I didn’t think fashion would be that interesting to you, baby,” Gio smirked, filing through racks of clothes.  
Max ignored the fluttery falling feeling Gio’s slur of ‘baby’ installed in him, and mocked offence.  
“Was that a read, Mr Paladrani? Can’t you tell i’m a fashion icon?” Max twirled, causing Gio to laugh gleefully.  
“I’ve seen this ensemble and vogue won’t be calling soon, angel,” Gio picked up a white harness, thrusting it towards Max, forcing Max’s eyes to widen and his cheeks redden.  
“I’ve found your outfit,” He smirked. “If you don’t wear it, I will.”  
Max smirked at the idea of seeing Gio wearing nothing but a harness, a weight developing in his trousers; he pushed the thought to the back of his mind.  
“Not my thing, Giovanni, but by all means wear it, yourself,” Max leant against a wall opposite Gio, presenting a sexily calm persona.  
“I will warn you, there’s nothing here that isn’t sheer, girl,” he continued to file through the hangers, pulling a sheer, leopard print, long sleeve shirt from a bundle of hangers. “I don’t do subtle, however, having seen your karate abs, you have nothing to hide.”  
Max took the shirt from Gio’s hand, revelling in the compliment, pushing him to be more confident. Without giving too much consideration, he pulled his turtle neck over his head, allowing it to land on the floor, looking back to see Gio’s reaction. His eyes were dark with an unadulterated lust; Max felt similarly to a confident peacock parading for a lion, he was in danger but the adrenaline pushed him to continue regardless.  
“Something wrong, Giovanni?”  
Gio, almost, physically shivered at the older man’s seductive tone that laced his name so sexily. He smirked, making it obvious to Max he was studying his muscular structure.  
“No, no, everything is perfect, Maxwell,” his eyes met Max; the shorter of the two noted the way his eyelids hooded, these were bedroom eyes if Max had ever seen a pair.  
Max was in the red alert danger zone, yet he took his time as he pulled the shirt over his head, not that the sheer material made much of a difference.  
“Show’s over already? We were just starting,” Giovanni pouted, slightly. “I never had you down as a coward, Max”  
Gio started to strip, pulling the harness and a pair of flag-adorned, loose fitted trousers on, his eyes never leaving Max’s; Gio’s irises still dark with, unspoken want, that neither would ever admit.  
Max let out a cackle, throwing his head back, causing the cool character to be filled with pride at making the fiery older man laugh.  
“I’m going to do my hair now,” Gio said abruptly, executing the intense moment immediately.  
He swung his hips, more so than normal, as he left the room, Max’s eyes moving with the curve of his ass.  
Tonight was going to be the death of Maxwell Heller, yet, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t muster then sense to care.


	7. Chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party time has finally arrived, but not all goes to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks dis_connected for editing the sweet Jesus out of this!

They’d arrived at the party forty-five minutes ago, and of those forty five minutes, Max had spent exactly thirty-seven minutes alone, standing awkwardly in the corner.  
The house, no, the mansion, was pulled straight for a Great Gatsby-esque novel; an immaculate, white modern palace, that was framed by empty fields. It stood in proud isolation, yet there was nothing lonely about the house; strangers of every array, littered the house, many falling over themselves in intoxicated glee.   
Giovanni had led him, hand in hand, out to the garden, which, essentially, was vast acres of fresh emerald land, emphasising the glistening ocean of a pool that sat central to the garden.  
Max had be wonderstruck, timidly following Gio down the pale-washed stone steps, leaving the loud house in the distance.   
The wonder and awe was quickly replaced by panic, as masses of people swarmed the pair; yet little attention was shown to Max. An audience of young, flamboyant men and women heckled Gio was compliments: “Giovanni, you look amazing!” “Aqua, I adore your outfit!” “You’re makeup is stunning, as always, you need to tell me what you use, Aquaria!”   
Max’s brain was foggy with anxiety and the reoccurring question; who the hell was Aquaria?

Currently, Max was sat on a sun-lounger, bold upright, observing Gio dancing with a drag queen; she appeared fiery and feminine and Max cursed her for being fishier than Cracker.  
She twirled, swaying closer to Giovanni than Max’s mind could handle, he quickly averted his gaze, squeezing his eyes shut, attempting to wash his mind of any illogical jealousy. Gio was his employer, he offered Max money and nothing else; he was a companion with, truly, no attachments.   
“I apologise on behalf of Giovanni,” a soft voice startled Max.  
He looked up, his eyes planting on an average height man, with light curly hair and a wide smile; he was artistically attractive and Max suddenly felt a heat hit his cheeks.  
“Pardon?” Max laughed, fluster filling his voice.  
The man smiled, reassuringly, his eyes full of knowledge, that Max was terrified to delve into.  
“I’m Dusty,” He replied, simply, as if that answered all of Max’s questions. “Sorry, can I sit?”  
Max nodded vigorously, thankful to have company, patting the space next to him.  
“Thank you,” He smiled, genuinely, sitting so close to Max that he could feel his thigh brushing his own.  
“I invited Giovanni here, he mentioned bringing a plus one and considering he’s there and you’re sat alone, here, I assumed that’s you.”  
Max nodded, ignoring the surprisingly accurate estimation the young man had pieced together.  
“So you’re friends? You and Gio?” Max questioned, sheepishly trying to fill in the blanks. Dusty let out a chuckle.  
“I would never say Giovanni and myself were friends,” Dusty smiled.   
Max cocked his head in confusion. He truly didn’t understand how everyone within the facility fawned over the milky marvel, complimenting his every move, yet he appeared to have an evident lack of friends. Words of adoration vomited from the mouths of everyone who had laid eyes on him throughout the night, yet the most commonly chosen adjective to describe the man, on a regular basis? Aloof.   
“Are you guys…dating or?” Dusty questioned slowly. Max flushed immediately.  
“No, no, no we’re just friends,” Max assured, quickly, determined to avoiding saying anything to annoy Gio. The cherry tones never leaving the apples of his cheeks.  
“Oh,” Dusty sighed, surveying the party. “The way he is currently staring at you, tells me a different story.”  
Max attempted to peak, nonchalantly, however his neck snapped in the general direction of Gio and was met with an intense stare. The sculpture had abandoned dancing for gawking, intensely, at Max and Dusty, blatantly ignoring the drag queen’s feeble attempts to steal his attention.  
Max offered his a weak smile, attempting to bury the jealousy and anxiety he’d been consumed with all night. Gio’s unreadable face was smothered with a wickedness that stirred Max’s stomach violently. So quickly, as if he had imagined it, Gio had tugged the drag queen into an intense kiss, their tongues battling, dissonance prominent within their moves.  
Max stared, trying to ignore the sinking feeling, weighing in his stomach, consuming him so fully that his lungs felt as though they were being filled with inky, black water.   
Why was he doing this? What did this achieve?   
Max let out a shaky sigh, yet his caramel iris’s, glistening with hurt, never trailed from the chaotic sequence of mouths and tongues.  
“Again, I apologise on his behalf,” Dusty mumbled, his voice laced with comfort and disappointment.  
Max glanced to Dusty, quickly adapting to mask his unreasonable sadness; he threw shoulders back, sitting straighter, duplicating Gio’s confidence.  
“I suppose I’ll be required to find somewhere else to stay for the night,” Max choked a chuckle. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt Gio’s fun.”  
“Oh god, no, he won’t take Vanjie home,” Dusty chuckled, lightly.   
Max cocked his head, like a confused puppy, a glimmer of hope installing in his stomach.   
“Gio does this a lot: he will throw himself, kissing, grinding, at anyone that will return the attention; which happens be a lot of people. However, Max, he will never, ever, take anyone home,” Dusty concludes.  
“Well, most people don’t want to take strangers home, especially when you live in a palace like Gio,” Max smiled weakly, surprising himself with the undeniable sadness in his tone.  
“I’ve never seen Gio go home with anyone, either,” Dusty shrugged, simply.  
Max was enthralled by every word exiting Dusty’s mouth, so consumed with Dusty and the wisdom he was shedding, he didn’t notice another presence, until a forced cough broke the intense gaze the men were sharing.  
“Ah, Giovanni,” Dusty smiled, addressing the glaring, young marvel. “You really shouldn’t leave your friend alone.”  
Gio rolled his eyes, a strict ritual Gio had developed when in Max’s presence; his body language was sealed shut, his arms clamped over his chest, yet he still stood tall, confident, as always.  
He scanned the pair, his eyes dark, however, Max didn’t commend himself for causing the shadow in Gio’s charcoal irises, this time.   
“I was having fun with Vanessa, I can spend time with friends, Dustin. I’m sure Max was fine, he isn’t a child, he doesn’t need supervision,” Gio stated, his eyes questioning Max, urging him to agree.  
“Actually…” Max started, causing Gio’s glare to intensify; he felt Gio’s stare was similar to icicles, penetrating him, viciously. “I was a tad lonely.”  
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” The youngster snapped, the false nature of his apology striking Max. “I’m glad you were, um…saved, per say, by Dusty here.”  
Max’s eyes searched, pleaded, with Gio’s to explain what he had done wrong. To explain why he was being this cold towards him; even when Max had acted brat-like towards to younger man, he’d always repaid Max in a shy warmth.  
Silence fell among the four partiers, Dusty shaking his head, as Gio continued to freeze Max with a glare. Max forced himself to look away, his eyes finally addressing the violet dress clad drag queen, still hovering to Gio’s side.  
Her eyes were filled with confusion, a look of, almost, recognition plastering her makeup adorned face.  
“Can I help you?” Max asked, his tone more pointed than he originally intended, yet the young queen didn’t seem taken aback.  
“I know you,” She said slowly, her accent harsh. “Do you go to the drag clubs?”  
Everything around Max hushed, his blood clotted, a fog of danger consuming his lungs. His eyes danced from Gio to the queen, searching for something to say. He couldn’t know; Max wasn’t ready to spill Cracker, not just yet, not here at least.  
“No…no, you don’t,” Max quivered, embarrassment and fear consuming his every word. “I’ve never seen a drag show.”  
“Girl, you are so familiar, Vanjie doesn’t forget a face,” Her eyes clouded with realisation. “Unless, you don’t wear your face, girl.”  
The way she emphasised ‘your’ made his blood boil; of course she, the queen that had shovelled her tongue down Gio’s throat, knew what he was hiding. She must have been determined to ruin their, his and Giovanni’s, night.  
“You have never seen me before, I can assure you, I don’t go to the clubs! You do not know me!” Max had cracked, reached the shameful intensity of guilt and hurt that caused him to snap, and it was completely evident in his voice. Max’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and shame, he had never lashed out at someone he had no prior knowledge of before; but mostly he was ashamed for Gio, picturing him drowning in the utter embarrassment poured over him by Max.  
“Shit. Sorry.”  
Gio’s eyes where wide, shocked, he had no experience with this Max, but he knew this wasn’t his small, sweet companion; admittedly, the, usually timid, clown of a man had given him hell, initially, but his nature never stretched remotely to this extent.  
Dusty placed a hand on Max’s thigh, gingerly, attempting to comfort the small, now frail, man, slumped next to him.  
Gio’s eyes come to a cold point, staring at the hand, urging it to burst into flames, or at least sizzle a little under his glare.  
“Okay, man, Jesus,” Vanessa chuckled, a mocking air in her voice.  
Max mumbled an apology, but it fell on deaf ears.  
“Come on Gio, let’s go back to the party,” She broke the tension, attempting to pull a stationary Giovanni with her, throwing an, “Ya’ll invited to mine and Aqua’s wedding,” over her shoulder.  
“Actually, Vanessa, I should spend some time with my…guest,” Gio replied, his accusing eye’s never leaving Max’s apologetic ones.  
A smile remained on her face, making Max feel infinitely guiltier, throwing a wave over her shoulder as she strolled back to the epicentre of the party.  
“I guess that’s my cue to-“ Dusty started, yet an eager Gio cut him off.  
“Yes it is.”  
Dusty squeezed lightly, and briefly, on Max’s thigh, a silent comfort, before standing and leaving, briskly.  
Gio remained still, arms still folded tightly against his chest, keeping everyone out, remaining in safe isolation.   
“Are you going to sit?” Max sighed, not glowing in his vulnerable status, cowering below Gio’s tall stature.  
Despite rejecting to reply the man, he sat, surprisingly close to the shrinking violet considering the tension, yet stayed quiet momentarily; Max felt as if he was sat next to a dormant volcano, just waiting to erupt violently.  
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” The young glacier spoke, spite threading his words together. “Dustin is married, so you’re stuck with me.”  
Max sighed, “I don’t want to sleep with Dustin, Gio. All I’ve wanted, since you left to dance, was for you to come back so I wasn’t alone; I’m not asking you to deprive yourself of shovelling your tongue down people’s throats for the whole night but-“  
“Max, this is truly wild, but… you’re not my fucking puppet master I can do what I want. Maybe stop being so jealous? Thanks,” Gio snapped back. Despite Gio being completely right, Max was being devoured by an unexplained jealousy, he would never bestow this knowledge to his competitor. He was taken aback at the lack of anxious slips penetrating Gio’s speech. He was deadly serious.  
“Gio, I don’t care,” Max sighed, exhaling lies. “I just wanted company.”  
“You didn’t care?” Gio interrogated, his voice, scarily, absent of any emotion.  
“Nope,”  
“Not even when I kissed her?”  
Max’s cheeks began to redden, his stomach tingling with a sickly feeling he’d experienced before, staring questioningly at Giovanni. Why did he care? He was right, they weren’t a couple, what did it matter? Did he think Max was attracted to him? Was he attracted to Max? So many questioned pestered the cogs in confused man’s head.  
“No, Why would I?” He confidently replied, faking a casual persona.  
Gio stood up abruptly, evidently frustrated, aggressively swinging around to tower above Max again, reinstalling panic in the smaller man.  
“Because I pay you to fucking care,” Gio snarled, waiting for a more cohesive reply from Max than the wide-eyed stare he was offering the menacing marvel. “Say something, Max.”  
Max stood, his features instantly, alarmingly blank, attempting to stand equal to the physically taller boy. He remained silent for a moment, surveying Gio’s face, his eyes resting on the imperial ice’s plump lips, which were moulded in a scowl. Shame, Max thought to himself. He snatched his eyes from the ever softening grimace, to Gio’s ever softening eyes.  
“I am so sorry for not meeting the job requirements, if given the opportunity, I promise to work harder,” Max responded professionally, as if he had handed his boss work past the deadline.  
“Max, don’t get smart-“ Gio huffed, but a still, uncharacteristically, distant Max cut him off.  
“No, you’re my employer, I have not been doing my job; so unprofessional of me,” Max replied, still levelling with Gio’s eyes, his voice void of emotion. Gio stared, pointedly, as the mirrored cold man.  
“Do yourself a favour: get over yourself, since you’re not getting under anyone,” Gio’s words were sharp, but Max had adapted during the duration of the time they’d spend alone, arguing; he threw back his head, aggressively chuckling, despite himself.   
“Well, you hated the idea of me getting under Dusty,” Max smirked, his voice laced with a seductive spite, attempting to parade a similar set of bedroom eyes to Gio’s prior pair. Gio searched Max’s face, desperately, his eyes dragged to Max’s glistening lips, as he licked his own. Until he caught himself.  
“I should never have brought you here,” Gio sighed. Max took mild offence to the prospect of his presence, at the party Gio abandoned him at, being unwanted.  
“Why?” Max questioned, not missing a beat. “Because you wanted to be free to choke anyone, and everyone, with your tongue? Goddamnit.”  
Gio stood, evidently taken aback by the normally soft shrinking violet, Max grasped this opportunity to continue his interrogation, spurting anger he didn’t know had coiled itself around his organs.  
“Or, Gio, or is it because you couldn’t stand to see me give someone else attention?” Max moved closer to Gio, his chest levelling, almost comedically, under Gio’s pectoral muscles, he felt the melting man shiver under the slight touch.   
“Taxi. Now,” Gio whispered meekly, authority abandoning his voice. “We’re going home.”  
“Not taking Vanessa with you?” Max retorted; he detested himself for wanting to push Gio, but he did. He wanted to push him to breaking point, and against the closest wall, but the latter was currently intangible, so Max made do.  
Max attempted to pull away, an act of defiance, yet the younger man desperately grabbled to maintain contact, his long, thin digits clamping around Max’s wrist.  
“Now,” Gio almost whimpered.  
His cheeks blossomed a light pink hue as Max skilfully manoeuvred Giovanni’s sweaty palms into his cool, calming hand, interlacing their fingers.  
“Okay,” He whispered, yet Gio could hear him crystal clear over the commotion of the party. “Call a taxi, we’ll go home.”  
Max tugged the subtly crumbling man up the stairs, his hands starting to perspire anxiously.  
He knew that this situation was cripplingly compromising; under no circumstances could he allow himself to touch the tantalising terror that was Giovanni. Max hated how effortlessly Gio could bend his supple determination, as if it were putty in his hands. He couldn’t allow him to bend the physical barriers, mostly put in place for Max’s own good, because, alas, he couldn’t lose this job.  
Max praised the lord for the, convenient, taxi positioned, almost deliberately for the men to find, outside the immaculate house of horrors.  
Gio must have had more to drink, or had simply worn himself down with aggression, as he allowed Max to weave him into the cab.  
“Hi, I’m sorry he’s tired, can you take us…” Max paused, smiling nervously at the driver in the rear-view mirror, lightly shaking a visually exhausted Giovanni. “Gio, give the man your address.”  
Gio mumbled, just audibly, his apartment complex to the, surprisingly calm, driver; Max had expected the mild shivering that Giovanni was emitting to have been more of an area for concern. Instead, the driver simply nodded, pulling away from the mansion.  
Max noted, as Gio leant his limb physique against the back of his seat, a vast expanse of leather keeping the men apart; however, they’re hands were still conjoined, as if it was the most natural contact in the world for the work colleagues to be sharing.  
“Did you drink much?” Max questioned, his tone was accusing and he watched as Gio struggled to roll his eyes.  
“You watched me the entire night, you tell me,” Gio sighed, his voice laced with annoyance. “I’m just tired, confrontation and whatnot tends to…drain me, slightly.”  
Max was consumed by guilt and a sense of self-hatred, more prominent than his normal spell of neglect towards himself. He had done this.  
He remained silent, the remnants of rage clamping his mouth shut.   
“Let’s forget about…it, hmm?” Gio purred, he mirrored a sleepy, stretching cat drawn to the sun drenched areas the lawn, basking in the warmth from the moon, miles away, out of the taxi window.  
The soothing vibrations of the cab lulled Gio’s bones, as he felt himself drifting in and out of the waters of sleep; he wasn’t drunk, he was aware of that, yet the frustration and annoyance the night had brought intoxicated his senses.  
“I don’t think I will forget about it,” Max mumbled, pointedly emphasising the word forget, because he couldn’t forget. His wind wouldn’t wipe itself of the images of Gio dancing and kissing her; no matter how hard he scrubbed his brain was still plastered with snapshots of Vanessa, dirtily, assaulting Gio’s mouth with her own. But, she wasn’t assaulting his mouth, not in the slightest, Gio had wanted to kiss the queen; that made the images sting all the more violently.  
The taxi dwindled to a stop, Max was consumed with an uneasy excitement at the prospect of staying in Giovanni’s home; he assumed it was a similar feeling to staying in a hotel, lapping up intangible, unfamiliar luxury; he couldn’t wait to lock himself in the guest room and stay as physically distant from the infuriating young man as possible.  
“Gio, lets go,” Max attempted to, carefully, pull the paper thin man from the halted cab.  
The dead weight sighed, automatically, as Max tugged at his arm, with a slight aggression; Max felt a prick of heat in his stomach, cursing himself for the worst possibly timing. He pushed the delightfully awfully timed feelings away as the younger man yanked his arm away from Max’s grip.  
Gio didn’t sway or crumble with the wind as he emerged from the taxi, instead he thrusted a bundle of notes at the taxi driver, striding, slightly weaker than normal, into the apartment as Max trailed in confusion.  
Why was Gio riddled with confusion? Why did he thrust so much confusion upon Max? Couldn’t Giovanni take a day off, at least allowing Max’s mind to recuperate from the mental maze?  
Gio paused, holding the door open for Max. As the shorter man timidly shuffled through the opened door, Gio attempted to re-grasp his hand, alas he fumbled simply knocking his elbow.  
“Shit,” Gio mumbled, making Max laugh, momentarily forgetting his anger. “I forgot to consider the height difference.”  
Max rolled his eyes, “Pocket sized prince, I’ve heard it before; come back when you have new material.”  
Gio bit back laughter, not content on elevating the older man of any guilt, or bestowing him any satisfaction. Instead, he tugged the man, silently, to the elevator   
The elevator ride was painfully slow, as Max sweetly tortured himself by gawking at Gio’s body, every strategically placed muscle and edge, sent simply to punish him; he was so accessible, but Max couldn’t take advantage of the exhaustion Gio was blatantly showing, and his heart was too vulnerable to risk subjecting it to any form of intimacy.   
Gio scampered out of the elevator, fervently unlocking the door to his apartment with the hand not consumed by Max’s, pulling the older man inside and promptly kicking the door shut.  
Silence ensued, the two men parted hands as Max turned to stand, a few feet from Gio, staring up at him questioningly.

“Well?” He started, Gio sighed in frustration.   
“I’m so tired, Max, I feel like a corpse, I can’t be bothered to argue.”  
“Are you the one that sat on a sun lounger, by themselves, for half hour Gio? No, so I say when you can’t be bothered.” Max was enraged, Gio had subjected him to torture and he was not done reminding the man of this fact.   
“I pay you, I don’t think you have the right to command me,” Gio laughed, disbelievingly at the audacity of the shorter man. “Besides, you had Dusty to stare at, you were fine!”  
“Stop being to jealous, Gio,” Max spat, slightly, fury returning to his bloodstream.  
“Why, Maxwell, would I be jealous?” The younger man taunted, stalking closer to Max. “I was getting more than enough attention, but you saw that.”  
Max could feel Gio’s warm breath against his face, as the man stared down at him, relishing in his coy words. Max wanted to stab back, aggressively, hitting Gio where it hurt. So he did.  
“Ya know Gio,” Max replied casually, pushing out his chest, attempting to level with the man. “You’re right, you probably do need to get naked to shag someone, because you and Vanjie didn’t do a lot of talking.”  
Max instantly regret it, however, the venom had passed his lips and it had been done. Initially, Gio reacted expectedly, like a mouse being feasted on by a snake. But then he stopped. His previously sorrowful eyes hardened, as he returned to ice, like he did so often.  
“You would know, you stared at us the entire night,” Gio retorted, moving close to Max until their chests were almost touching. “Speaking of Vanjie, why were you such an asshole to her? What does she know that you’re so scared of other people knowing?”   
Max inhaled sharply, stepping back from Giovanni and turning his attention to a tiny particle of tired that was consuming his interest.  
“I’m finished talking about this,” Max mumbled, lifting his head. Gio shrugged a reply.  
“Good,” he replied, shorting, skilfully removing his boots and moving his thin, pale hands to his trousers, discarding them on the floor.  
“What are you doing?” Max choked, gawking at the man’s milky complexion, only distorted by a pair of blue boxers and the harness; Max felt his desire, and creative juices, oozing.  
It finally clicked, after months of mediocre performances and lacklustre lip-syncs, it had finally clicked what would resurrect his drag career. The younger man simply smirked, leaning causally against the kitchen countertop, a look of self-satisfaction plastering all of his features.  
“I’m getting ready for bed, Max,” Gio replied, slurring mock innocence. “Something the matter?”  
“No, not at all,” Max stuttered a reply, wishing, wholeheartedly, that he could present himself with the same coy sensual aura.  
“Oh,” Gio pouted, his voice slightly breathier than normal, jutting out his hip slightly. “So, is it my body that offends you?”  
Max felt a prick of undeniable lust consume his body, he felt as if he had been dunked underwater, repeatedly, struggling to catch his breath.  
“No,” he choked, consumed with embarrassment as Gio beamed, evidently proud of himself.  
Gio contorted, leaning over the countertop, his head resting on his hands, curving his back, thus parading his ass in the air like a cat stretching. Max felt his tongue drained of any moisture, gulping to drag any oxygen to his empty lungs  
“Then why are you so flustered?”  
Max ignored the man, attempting to unscramble the mess of thoughts that had accumulating in his brain; praying to retrieve his previous thought.  
“Gio,” Max started, walking timidly towards the younger man, urging his hands to stay by his sides. “ Could I possibly lend that harness, only for a week or so?”  
Max had been out of drag since he’d met Gio, too disheartened by his performances to book any gigs, but he was certain Monét, or even Bob, would put a favour in for him.  
Gio raised a cocky eyebrow, offering the older man, who’s hands were still cemented to his sides, a smug, knowing look.  
“Under one condition,” He smirked, Moving painfully close to Max. “The only person you use it with…is me.”  
Max’s ears were consumed by white noise, a dull buzzing; he was painfully aware of how close Gio was, how easily he could touch his body, the words that had slithered out of the young man's mouth urging him forward.  
A chuckled erupted from the coy younger man, as he confidently stepped back, allowing Max much appreciate oxygen, to his currently deprived lungs.  
“I’m just kidding, just clean them if you dirty them okay? I will pick up the dry cleaning bill but I don’t want to deal with…that mess,” Gio smirked, pulling the said harness over his head, throwing it on the sofa.  
“I thought so,” Max grumbled, irritated by the younger man stringing him along like a child’s toy. “I mean, you don’t like to be tied down, hmm Gio? Rather do what you want with whoever.”  
Max was painfully away of his, not so passive, aggression, yet Gio simply rolled his eyes and stalked away, before disappearing down the hallway.  
Max stood, spellbound and empty, in the same spot he started; Gio was messing with him, again.  
He cursed himself, hatefully, at how cripplingly weak he was, how completely permeable his heart was; and he cursed Giovanni more for utilising this.  
A cocky bellow filled the apartment, grasping Max’s attention immediately.   
“Not coming to bed, Max?” Gio had returned, casually filling the doorframe. “I can get you a sleeping bag if you’d rather sleep on the floor.”  
Max shook his head vigorously, “the guest room will suffice, but I forgot to grab pyjamas when I left, goddamnit.”  
“Sleep in your boxers,” Gio suggested simply, Max’s eyes instinctively trailed to the boxers Gio was wearing, before returned to the piercing charcoal eyes, glistening with cocky confidence.  
“I like to be warm when I sleep,” Max, who frequently slept naked, desperately trying to reduce his washing, lied. He mostly couldn’t bear to subject himself to the possibility of Giovanni seeing him in nothing but his boxers, especially with his self-control so fragile.  
Gio rolled his eyes, “as you wish. Follow me, you can sit on my bed while I find you something.”  
Max followed the instructions, his eyes glued to the slither of pale ass, visibly poking out from the blue material, that quivered with every step Gio took. Max observed the way the material clung and folded the the small curves of Gio’s muscles, Max was consumed by such flustering heat that he couldn’t push the image to the back of his head, he couldn’t shamefully dismiss it.  
His eyes trailed up the younger man’s back, noting the way the muscles tensed as he walked, the way his shoulders moved with ease, as he swayed his arms in a causal flamboyance.  
Max contemplated what would happen if he disregarded his barrier, if he complied to the desires the immaculate man had installed in him. He contemplated the red marks he’d leave on Gio’s vast expanse of milky skin, the bruises, filled with lust and affection, his mouth would litter across his chest and up his neck; an announcement to people, like Vanessa and the masses of others, that Gio wasn’t theirs to play with. However, Max was painfully aware, that he wasn’t his to play with either.  
Max sat, neatly, with his legs crossed, feeling like a tiny child in comparison to the massive expanse of bed; waiting, desperately trying to clam his nerves, as Gio went in search for pyjamas.  
He turned his attention to the New York’s lights, that were so dazzlingly bright they made the stars appear as inferior blurs of dim light. He attempted to ignore the scuffles of, what he assumed was, Gio throwing garments over his shoulder; instead, Max counted the lights across the skyline, attempting to calm the persistent heat that engulfed his body.  
“I found something, but you better be grateful and not laugh!” Gio re-emerged, cackling. “I think you’ll like the shirt.”  
Max caught the cascades of clothes Gio threw at him, quickly shuffling out of the unbearably tight, and sheer, clothes, pulling on the black t-shirt, and black sweat pants that trailed on the floor as he walked to the mirror.  
Max attempted to read the white lettering, now backwards in the mirror, letting at a cackle as he unscrambled the anagram.  
“Italians do it better!?” Max’s stomach tensed as he continued to bellow laughter, Gio smiled fondly, a pink hue rising to his cheeks.  
“Well?”  
“Well what?” Gio replied, his eyebrows furrowing.  
“Do Italians do it better?” Max, still giggling slightly, asked, attempting to appear seductive.  
“You’ll have to find out for yourself,” Gio replied, coyly, meeting Max at the mirror, grabbing cleansing wipes to rid his face of makeup.  
“I will make it my mission,” Max replied, his tone finally ridden of laughter.  
Gio paused halfway through removing his second dose of eye makeup, “good.”  
He returned to removing his makeup, cursing himself for replying is such a lame manner.  
He abandoned the wipes, stalking his way to his bed, channeling a lion’s confident demeanour, pulling back the sheets, throwing himself to the middle of the bed. Max stood, awkwardly, waiting.  
“Where are the, um, the guest rooms?”   
“Oh, well, they’re…Max,” Gio paused. “Do you want to, you don’t have to of course, but you could, only if you wanted, stay here? I mean, because you’re already here, so it’s easier…and I’d appreciate the company.”  
Max contemplated the danger of allowing himself this close to the tantalising man, yet his body craved nothing more than to lie next to him, despite the anger still rapidly circling his veins.  
Gio waited, pulling the sheets over his head, rambling a muffled, “sorry, it was stupid, espically after tonight.”  
Max moved, attempting to appear confident, tugging the sheets from his counterparts face.  
“Move over then,” Max smiled, sliding in next to Gio, as the younger man beamed.  
They laid in silence for a moment, on opposite sides of the bed, the silence was deafening and all Max desired was for something mildly relevant to pop into his head, to rid them of the tormenting silence.  
“Max,” a small voice sounded into the dark room, breaking the silence. “I understand if you don’t want to, this is more than I had even expected considering the circumstances, but could you…hold me? Please.” Gio’s voice dwindled into the silence, his tone void of his usual confidence.  
“Oh fuck off,” He older, still furious man retorted, wrapping his arms protectively around the taller man, pulling his closer towards his body, regardless. He sighed in relief as Gio complied, tangling their legs, before resting his head on Max’s chest.  
They said nothing, yet there were no words necessary, and Max was strangely content with Gio’s, gradually, evening breathing being the only audible sound in the vast room. The still awake man, shamefully enjoyed his role as Gio’s pillow, yet his mind swirled with all the cold words of spite he should have uttered to have truly hurt them man.  
He waited for the breathing to become heavy enough to confirm the younger man was sleeping, before allowing himself to be masked by the water of sleep.  
“Goodnight, Giovanni,” He mumbled, begrudgingly, before allowing himself to be consumed.


	8. Chapter eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings and confessions, some addressed and some left in the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally updated! I apologise for the delay, a dirty Craquarian like myself has a busy schedule.

The sun penetrated the windows, consuming the unfamiliar bedroom with light; Max’s eyes strained against the exposure, trying to familiarise himself with his current habitat.  
Max sat, bolt upright, surveying the room around him; flashes of the shameful night assaulted Max’s mind, slowing piecing together exactly why he smothered by expensive sheets.  
Max instinctively blindly searched the bed, with his hand, for his confrontational companion. Alas, his hand was met with just the vast expanse of empty bed. Gio was gone.  
Max sighed, falling back against the headboard, slightly disappointed yet drowned by a contrasting sense of relief; he hoped that he’d wake in the middle of the night, Gio heavily consumed by sleep, allowing him to slip away, like a guilty child.  
The apartment, that’s vast area could fit five of Max’s apartments, was painfully quite, yet a small fumble of music sounded in the distance, reassuring Max he was not the only human occupying the apartment, thus urging him to investigate.  
Max, apprehensively, peeled away the heavy duvet, slipping his feet onto the carpeted floor- a luxury he wasn’t granted at home, and padded to the door, basking in the comfort the carpet offered his bare feet. He timidly opened the door, the cool mental of the doorknob calming Max, before shuffling down the corridor, into the open spaced kitchen. He stared in horror.  
The room was consumed by a suffocating layer of smoke, which was violently erupting from a pan on the stove, which was being violently shuffled on the heat by a disgruntled looking Giovanni; still only clad in his tortoise underwear.  
“Shit,” He whispered, violently, waving the spatular in his hand similarly to a warrior wielding his sword, but slightly more flamboyantly.  
Max watched the flailing man, silently enjoying the frustration he wore, feeling, for the first time, that karma was finally taking it’s course.  
Max was throughly relishing in the show, but he lungs were becoming irritated by the burning smoke, forcing him to let out a poorly concealed cough. Gio halted, lowering his spatular and slowly turned to face the source of the nose, a feeble look on his face.  
“Emotional torture not good enough, Gio? Moving onto physical punishment now?” Max let out an exaggerated cough, causing the spatular superstar to smile timidly.  
“I was attempting to make you apology pancakes,” The young marvel replied, placing his spatular on the table, sheepish and embarrassed.  
“So, that’s why you have Mount Pinatubo on the stove?” Max retorted. “Haven’t I suffered enough?”  
It was Giovanni’s turn to become a shrinking violet, under Max’s look of amusement; Max attempted to ignore how adorable the timid taller man looked, trying to revive the fire of anger that was so prominent in his stomach the night before.  
“Move out of the way,” Max sighed, attempting to hide the affection in his tone, grasping the spatula.  
“What? Why?” Gio interrogated, attempting to regain the spatular from Max’s titan grip.  
“Oh, I don’t know Giovanni, what do you think?” Max retort, sarcastically mocking the younger, baffled man.  
Max looked down, distastefully, at the charcoal, pile of cinders in the pan, he attempted to hold back a laugh at the younger man’s expense. Max swiftly picked up the pan, that harboured the crisp catastrophe, and disposed it in the bin, it fell like pencil sharpeners, which only mildly concerned Max.  
“Right, different pan or clean that one,” Max instructed the younger man, who promptly obeyed, pulling a new, almost identical, pan out of cupboard. Max raised an eyebrow, causing Gio to flush vigorously.  
“I don’t do washing,” He smiled, timidly. Max simply rolled his eyes. “Throw it in the dishwasher.”  
“What an attentive house wife,” Max mocked, reaching up to tie his hair into a little, sanitary, bun. “Get me the ingredients, Gio.”  
The taller man scrambled to collect all the ingredients, happily accepting his submissive role, mostly thankful that Max wasn’t spewing venom at him. He laid the desired items in front of the calmly waiting chief, beaming at himself as Max commented a praising, “Great.”  
Gio, despite being cautious of Max’s still prevalent anger, wanted to gain a reaction. He craved it. He pondered if maybe Max was right, if he was angry that Max had shared out his attention last night, resulting in Gio feeling deprived in some aspect. Even as Max cracked eggs into a stirring bowl, he felt a burning frustration at the lack of attention he was receiving, an unusual desire for the often quiet man.  
“It okay, baby,” Gio slurred, ever so sickly sweet, relishing in the way Max paused, momentarily, at the pet name. “I like playing house wife, we should do it again, when I’m in your good books, again.”  
Max sighed, grasping the spoon, and stirred silently, his eyes never wandering from the bowl. This did not please Giovanni, not in the slightest.  
“My sugar baby and my chief, I’m a lucky man,” He sighed moving to push himself, to sit next to where Max stood, on the counter, letting his legs dangle. Max simply ignored his comment, pouring the batter into the pan, situated on one of the vast collection of, unused, heat rings.  
Gio waited, his frustration blooming violently in his stomach, watching Max flip pancakes routinely, before filing them onto two plates. Gio leant back, leaning on the palms of his hands, spreading his legs slightly, shamefully attempting to fluster the man. Yet, as Max turned around, he simply offered Gio the plate of neatly stacked Pancakes, his eyes never straying from Gio’s. Gio accepted the pristine plate of pancakes, letting out a mild sigh, which Max chose to ignore.  
“Are we sitting at the dinner table?” Max asked, gesturing to the a old, expensive looking wooden table, which Max imagined wouldn’t be out of place in a palace.  
“Ooo, like a real family,” Gio deadpanned, planting his feet on the tiled floor, causing a stinging to form in the soles of his feet. Max rolled his eyes, dismissing the pouting man’s comments, taking his place on one of the expensive plush dinner chairs.  
“Fuck,” Max exhaled, abruptly, placing his knife and fork where they started, on the table. Gio cocked his head, questioningly. “I forgot butter.”  
Gio quickly paced to the fridge, craving Max’s praise, grasping and returning the butter tray to Max, with a coquettish smile.  
“Thank you, Gio,” Max smiled at him, affectionately, for the first time that morning.  
The blushing boy slashed into a his mammoth mountain of pancakes, a shameful sense of comfort consuming the younger man; he hadn’t eaten a genuine home cooked meal in months, resulting in the simple stack plastering images of a blissful. The stereotypical American family life: an unfamiliar daydream, consisting of home cooked meals, picket fences and substituting clubbing for a quiet evening watching Saturday night TV, curled up to another body.Max’s body.  
Gio shovelled a piled fork into his mouth, deliberately letting out a moan of, almost dirty, pleasure, causing Max’s eyes to snap violently from his food and to Gio. The younger man, desiring nothing but the reincarnation of Max’s lustful eyes on him, he relished in the attention, throwing his head back releasing another moan.  
“After this, I’ll put anything you offer me in my mouth,” He purred, his sensual tone causing the younger man to praise himself at his believable facade, as Max’s eyes clouded over. He placed his cutlery down, clearing his throat.  
“We need to talk, Gio,” Max replied, seriously, caughting Giovanni off guard. The younger man’s face fell, he knew it was inevitable for the conversation to arise, but he’d hoped he’d be able to fluster the other man, even a fraction more.  
“About what, angel?”  
“Don’t play stupid, Gio, you deserted me yesterday, argued with me like a child and then welcome me into your bed! That’s not even the question consuming my mind, Gio” Max snapped back, his voice bursting with emotion, confusion and destress blooming vividly in his tone.  
Gio hung his head, “The pancakes were an apology for yesterday; I fucked up, I even fucked up the apology.”  
“The pancake apology is childish and not good enough, frankly Giovanni,” Max scolded, causing Gio to, uncharacteristically, crumble into himself. “All you had to say for sorry and fucking mean it, Goddamnit.”  
“I am sorry, Max,” The crumbling cage of a boy replied, surprising himself with the stability of his voice. “I have been all night; lying next to you should be comfortable and make me feel less alone but all I felt all night was guilt.”  
“Well, I’m sorry you actual felt bad for making me feel completely shit the entire night,” Max projected his anger, before stopping, catching a glimpse at Gio’s startlingly saddened eyes. “I”m sorry, I mean, you’ve apologised, but I still have questions.”  
Max felt his heart sinking, as if it were violently tossed in the watery abyss, as Gio let out a tiny, “okay.”  
Max watched as the previously flirtatious waxwork abandoned gobbling his breakfast for pushing it around his plate, the grey cloud of guilt and discomfort almost visibly hanging above his head. Max instantly softened his tone, wishing so fervently that he could reach across the table and grasp his hand, for the second time in forty-eight hours. He didn’t move.  
“Who’s Aquaria?” Max asked softly, causing Gio to snap his head up, to look at the man sat opposite him, he opened his mouth and allowing it to hang, open ajar, before clamping it shut. “I won’t judge you.”  
Gio inhaled cool oxygen, allowing it to wash his lungs, urging him to say something, anything, to the older man. His mind coaxed his mouth to share his perfect persona, a calming caricature, that he’s normally infinitely proud of; despite attempting to blossom Aquaria within himself, he shamefully stumbled a response.  
“Aquaria is a persona I sometimes…utilise…she makes me feel, um, more confident” Gio couldn’t meet Max’s wide irises, as a suffocating blanket of silence engulfed them.  
“So,” Max broke the silence. “You…do drag?”  
“I mean, um, casually, I suppose,” Gio was unusually small, Max assumed it was the impact of finally dissolving the persona he’d created to open up to him, taking an impact. Max cursed the younger man purely for being able to blur the line between himself and his character, being able to harvest something from Aquaria that Max could never grow when stripped of Cracker.  
Max let out a harsh burst of laughter, “Girl, you stole my storyline.”  
Gio’s eyes, swimming with confusion and, what Max couldn’t put his finger one, fear, finally met Max’s. His eyebrows furrowed, instinctively prompting Max to continue an explantation, much to Max’s distain; he fumbled with where to start, what to say, how to explain a part of his life, he realised, he had never truly verbalised.  
“I am a drag queen,” Max started, his voice embarrassingly quiet and weak. “I work in some of the clubs…that, that’s how Vanessa knows me, I didn’t want to admit it.”  
Gio’s inky pools viewed Max, knowingly, feeling the closest to the other man than ever. He was swarmed with a feeling of intimacy, with his peer, that stretched further than any possible physical touch; he knew he could be pressed, flesh to flesh, with another man, their body so close they appeared as one entity, yet it would only be a fraction of the proximity he was experiencing with Max.  
A comfortable, comforting silence nurtured the room, Max waited, his stomach fizzling with anticipation, for Giovanni’s feedback, his possibly praise or judgement or a nonchalant shrug yet he received a quiet, doe-eyed stare.  
“Show me,” He finally answered, so simply that Max stuttered at the request.  
“W-what?”  
“Show me her- you- show me you,” Gio seemed so enticingly eager, that even as Max searched the apartment for his trousers, in which his phone resided, he had a smile plastered to his face.  
He shakily extracted his phone from his discarded jeans on the bedroom floor, as Gio waited, perched on the bed, his eyes gleaming as they stared at Max, waiting.  
He scrolled, begging for a photo that was perfect, filing past any that weren’t; he finally stumbled across a golden-clad Cracker, leaning, casually, against a grubby chicken shop window. The perfect juxtaposition.  
Max approached Gio, legs feeling like lead, thrusting the phone into his the attentive allure’s hands, without a further thought, before he could change his mind.  
Gio silently, shyly surveyed the screen, the light from the phone illuminating his reaction, for Max to study religiously, his stomach continually twisting, torturing him.  
The light painted the young man’s wide eyes and with plump lips, open ajar, the corners of his mouth rising, slightly, as his spoke,  
“You’re beautiful,” the wistful wonder whispered, so softly, it was almost muzzled by the music of a bustling New York street below.  
Max didn’t say anything, he simply moved, slowly, to sit next to the taller man, feeling infinitely smaller.  
“Thank you,” he replied, genuinely, feeling something catch in his throat.  
He always felt beautiful as Cracker, alone in his apartment mirror, yet he never felt that way in other queen’s eyes; Cracker’s hips here too wide, Cracker’s contour was too dark, Cracker’s hair was too one dimensional. Yet, hearing his feelings verbalised in Gio’s sweet slurs made his heart swell.  
“I mean it, Max, you’re beautiful,” Gio breathed, turning to sit, crossed legged, parallel to the flustered Max. For a second, only a fraction of a passing of time, Max thought Gio was addressing him, complimenting the male form he has detested for as long as he could fathom, not Cracker. “Please let me do your makeup, I promise I’ll do a good job, I could do so much with your face, please Max, you’d look so stunning.”  
The prospect of Giovanni begging, whimpering, for Max to do anything for him urged him to say yes, without any contemplation; however, he knew the idea of Giovanni caressing his face, the touch of brushes and the younger man’s slim fingers across his face, would launch him into dangerous territory, in which his self-control would evaporate.  
“I don’t know,” Max started.  
“Please, Look, I’ll show you Aquaria's looks, you’ll be impressed,” Gio glowed, urgently throwing himself to his feet, in search for something.  
Max simply watched as the younger man rushed around the room, attempting to find the desired item, which Max assumed was a desperate attempt to force him to cave in. Yet, he couldn’t, physical contact triggered something within him, that only the milky marvel could install, it jeopardised his job and thus his lifestyle.  
“I found it!” Gio’s smile widened, thrusting a glittery, yet not remotely tacky, scrap book into Max’s hands.  
Max scanned the book, feeling his chest tighten with every glimpse, everything single look, the air struggled to reach his lungs. She was perfection. From every brushstroke of pigment to every lick of hair, Giovanni- Aquaria- was phenomenally immaculate.  
“Dammit, Gio, you had to show me up,” Max laughed, despite himself, suddenly timid at his art.  
Giovanni blushed, violently, at the flattery, muttered a flustered thank you.  
“But, it would take hours to translate this on to my face,” Max finished, offering a small smile and the book back to Gio, who reluctantly accepted it.  
“I have hours,” He retorted, desperately. “And I’ll pay for yours.”  
Max paused, contemplating; he needed the money, his career and livelihood was reliant on it, yet he couldn’t place himself, willingly, in the palm of that unpredictable cat’s hand.  
“I promise another day, I will let you paint my mug. Deal?” Max questioned, receiving a slight pout, followed by a begrudging nod from Giovanni.  
“You better keep that promise,” Gio smiled slightly, leaning closer to Max.  
“I pinky promise,” Max smiled, offering his petite finger as a symbol of his word, his nerve endings fizzling as Gio’s long digit wrapped around his own. He felt a tug of his finger and Giovanni pulled himself closer to the him, causing Max’s air pipe to clog, a nervous brick cementing itself in his stomach.  
“What are you doing?” Max asked, as Gio halted, his chest still absent of any clothing, mere centimetres from Max’s.  
“I wanted a…um, hug? Sorry, I thought that type of, uh, physical contact was…satisfactory?” Gio scolded himself for the shake his voice, attempting to recoil himself, before Max stuttered a simple “okay.”  
Given any other circumstances, and any other man, Gio would have suppressed his desperations, alas, after the cocktail of emotional turmoil of the night and the sincerity of their confessions, Gio found himself, similarly to a cat, lunging into the timid arms of chaotic canary.  
Max assumed he felt similarly to someone who had been plunged into the warm embrace of a pool of quick sand; he was aware he was sinking, dangerously, every time he found himself within painfully tangible distance to Giovanni, however, the more he struggled, the quicker he sunk.  
Max looked down, pleadingly, to the soft sculpture, coiled within his lap, begging for a safe way out of his grasp, laced with peril.  
“Gio,” Max felt as if he was bargaining with the man. “I still have a few hours before I have to leave, you can do my makeup, if you really want.”  
Gio didn’t move, not a single muscle in his body quivered, as he let out a satisfied grumble, “this is fine.”  
Max sighed, begging himself to relax, pleading for his mind to stop contemplating how small and innocent the man looked. He urged himself to ignore how easy it would be to touch the clean canvas of pale, untouched skin.  
They sat there for minutes that spilled on for what, to Max, felt like hours; in reality it had been only ten minutes when Gio stirred, abruptly sitting up in Max’s lap, his wide, eager eyes meeting Max’s apprehensive ones.  
“Take me to your show,” Gio demanded, a definite sense of excited warmth in his voice.  
“P-pardon?” He stuttered, feeling Gio sling his arms around his neck.  
“I want to go and see your drag show,” He replied with a sweet force that almost made Max bend to his will, contort to his every desire. Almost.  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Giovanni, I mean-“  
“I want to go, Max,” not a single slur penetrated his Gio’s voice, emphasising the unspoken imperative.  
“I said, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Max retorted, equally as firm, thrusting his hands to meet Giovanni’s waist, attempting to assert his mythical authority. The entitled tone in Gio’s voice made Max’s skin prickle with the urge to punish the bratty boy, throwing names and, more unique forms of discipline, at the younger boy.  
“I frankly don’t care what is a good or catastrophically awful idea, I want to see you perform; I bet you look amazing on stage, sexy and whatnot. Are you a sexy queen, Max?”  
Max felt his grip tighten on Gio’s sharp hip bones, letting out an exasperated sigh, “Stop being a fucking brat, Giovanni.”  
The younger, now pouting, man slowly uncoiled his plython-esque grip from Max’s neck, softly slithering out of his lap, allowing his slim structure to stretch, tantalisingly, across the vast bed, which suddenly felt smaller to Max.  
The, now relaxed, man lounged, coyly, against his elbows, consuming any possible space his infinite legs could reach. His inky orbs were consumed with a dangerous spark, that Max had viewed before, yet, this time, it was overpowered by a intimidating smugness that made Max’s stomach churn, uncomfortably.  
“Okay,” He replied simply, a sensual slur clinging to every word. “Okay, Maxwell.”


	9. Chapter nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giovanni could never follow instructions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @AnitaP I firstly want to say your dream was completely spot on, I'm not sure why psychic water you've been drinking!  
> Secondly, thank you @dis_connected and @ep04 for reminding me to actually write, because we all know this is a little late, oops.   
> Lastly, thank you all for being so patient with me, I really hope you enjoy this chapter!

Giovanni was sat in a far nook of a musky, stuffy club, in which the air was so dirtily thick it was visible in swirls under the lights, which framed the small stage in the centre.   
He knew he wasn’t suppose to be here, yet, the guilt that swarmed his stomach, installing a sickly feeling in his bones, was nothing, if not minuscule, in comparison to his curiosity.  
He’d begged Vanessa, promised her money, affection, gifts, in return for any information about Max’s drag career; alas, she’d be little help, simply replying, “I don’t know much, girl, something about a cookie or Cracker? She performs in the same bar every week, though.”  
Gio had grovelled for the club, which Vanessa had begrudgingly supplied, thus leading Giovanni to the corner of which he resided.   
Tonight was not his first night of attendance, the curious caldera had peaked in every evening this week; however, tonight he stayed. Boycotting the masses of neon tricks, the light trickling onto the attractive flashy caricatures at the bar, clad in little more than a pair of lustful eyes, and quietly Gio ordered a drink and situated himself in the farthest corner of the club, in one of the few chairs dotted around.   
Gio watched, preoccupied and not fully engaged, as a lovably chaotic black queen, who’s wig was long forgotten, wrapped up her set; he’d wish his mind wasn’t so engraved with with the mysterious minx he might never encounter, so he’d have been able to marvel and holler at every flamboyant, yet precisely executed, twirl and flick the queen performed.   
Her voice was a mere mumble, hazy in the abandoned fragment of Gio’s mind; yet as her voice trailed by, two words were perfectly opaque in Gio’s audio.   
“Miz Cracker!”  
Gio’s mouth evaporated of any prior moisture, his eyes widening with images of the queen he’d briefly observed, blonde hair bigger than Max himself, that he now had a name for.   
Yet, this image was replaced, as a small man, face smothered in an illusion mimicking one Gio was far too familiar with. From the mocking, faux septum ring to the high-fashion harness, the look was indisputably Giovanni.   
The bewildered boy watched as Cracker’s mouth moved, arms punctuating jokes that, he could only assume, was met by laughter; yet, the room was silenced as Gio’s confusion muffled any noise.  
Was Max mocking him? Why? What hatred could he harbour that lead to an entire performance dedicated to slandering Giovanni?  
A distance eco of music consumed the room, yet Gio could only focus on the dirtily sensual nature of Miz Cracker’s dancing, her eyes hooded lustfully, as her mouth curled around every word.  
Gio’s eyes were glued to Cracker’s hips, watching them rhythmically gyrate, picturing the sensation of that movement against his body; picturing how he’d draw the the small queen closer to his chest, urging her hips to continue, against his body, blissfully. Yet, Giovanni felt rather shameful that he couldn’t simply observe, possible critique, Cracker’s performance from a dancer’s perspective; however, he mentally vowed to give Max a few lessons.   
The mystified marvel was consumed by an intoxicating concoction, a dangerous cocktail of lust and anger.  
How dare Max! How dare he humiliate him in such a desirable fashion! How dare Miz Cracker look so beautifully raunchy, the stage lights illuminating every toned muscle on the mocking minx’s body as Cracker shamefully scolded him, making Giovanni so flutteringly furious.  
What was Max even insinuating?   
Giovanni had never been one to, openly, fret about people’s presentation of him; he tended to avoid the limelight due to embarrassment and the desperate need for privacy, yet he didn’t care what people thought of him. He knew he was bewilderingly beautiful yet he was often percept as less than satisfactory, in terms of projecting his personality. But Max had seen his personalty, more so than others, was this how he perceived him? A cry baby sex pest?  
Suddenly, Giovanni was swarmed by a rain of aggressive realisation. No, a storm of agressive realisation. All due to a malicious metaphor, that Gio was positive Max was channeling.   
“You don’t need to show skin to be sexy…I’ve never shown skin and I’ve had multiple sexual partners; I’m sure you’ve brought men home without getting naked, Gio.”  
Gio was on his feet before the cunning canary had even left the stage, throwing himself through the crowd, that had congregated at around the same stage, pushing himself behind the curtain.  
Gio was surged purely by the anger and undeniable dark lust that had consumed his vision like a thick fog, he carelessly extracted and threw random notes he had, crumbled in his pocket, at any body that tried to obscure his mission. He didn’t know where he would locate Max, be he knew he had to find him.  
After extended minutes of him throwing himself into empty rooms, or rooms that appeared empty because every face he was greeted with was no painted as his own, he located a room, the door open wide, inviting, in which a still Giovanni clad Cracker was deep in conversation with the original queen who had introduced Max.  
Sadly, he later reflected, his legs moved before his mind could contemplate Max’s feelings, the consequences of his actions, and what it would result in for their situation, even more catastrophic, his mouth took no heed to his brain either. Gio’s legs thrusted himself in the direction of the other, glamorously intimidating queen, in which his mouth was more than happy to follow.  
“Leave, I need to speak to Maxwell,” Gio sneered, attempting to intimidate the deadpanned Queen.  
“Giovanni?” Max asked confusion consuming his tone, before his voice became harsher. “I told you not to come.”  
“Cracks, do you want me to get rid of him?” The opposing queen asked, casually pointing to a flustered, yet not finished, Gio.  
“Cracks? Oh Cracks,” Gio chuckled, patronisingly, turning his attention to Max. “Do you want her to get rid of me, Cracks?  
“Monét, don’t worry, just leave us,” Max sighed, turning back to the mirror.  
Monét flashes Giovanni a knowing look, before swiftly leaving and, much to Giovanni’s praise, shutting the door.  
“Well, Maxwell, you’re a fantastic performer, but the character, may I say, seems a little…stolen,” Every word was laced with a deliberate spite, he wanted to make Max angry, of course, he’d become familiar with the passive aggressive tone Max would adapt, it filled Giovanni with a heated batch of satisfaction.   
Max simply sighed and moved, slowly and refusing to face Giovanni, to the door and swiftly locking it, Giovanni’s stomach tumbled with a flustered, anxious heat.   
“Why…are you locking the, um, door?” Gio stumbled, his confidence fumbling, embarrassingly.  
Max finally turned to greet Gio’s gaze, eyes narrowed and skin flushed, a burning crimson colour, he stalked closer to Giovanni, the heeled shoes allowing Max to look him directly in the eyes.  
“I don’t want people to see,” Max sneered, leaning intimidatingly close to Gio, who instinctively took a step back, suddenly apprehensive to be in proxemics to the bubbling uncertainty.  
“What don’t you want them to see?” Gio almost whimpered, cursing himself as he felt his sweltering back meeting the cold wall. He was cornered and vulnerable, not the outcome he has desired.  
“I don’t want them to see when I scold you for being such a fucking brat,” Max hissed, placing both of his hands either side of Gio’s beautifully bewildered head. “I said no, Gio.”  
“I wanted to see you perform,” Gio quipped back, uncertain yet faking confidence. “Anyway, I’m your boss, I can do as I please.”  
“We had an agreement, Giovanni, a privacy arrangement,” Max retorted, he could feel his bare chest making slight contact with the silk material of anxious, yet argumentative, man’s crimson shirt, mimicking the colour creeping, slyly, up his marble expense of neck. Max noted how rapidly the chest paralleled to his raised and fell, in a chaotic rhythm.  
“Oh, fuck the agreement,” the pinned man sighed, visibly frustrated. Max didn’t move. “You have been fucking with my head so much, Max. So fucking much.”  
Max’s toned arms started to go slack, still framing Gio’s face, as the vulnerable boy’s eyes darted to Max’s comedically over-lined lips which were mumbling a faint, “sorry,” before unintelligible mumbles trailed into the silent room.  
“Pardon, Max?” Gio condescendingly questioned, finally meeting Max’s blue framed, hazel irises which his own charcoal pair.  
“I said: Sorry, but you’re not the only one, goddamnit!,” Max barked, his arms once again secure against the wall. Giovanni smirked at not only the evident effect he was having on, a now flustered, Max, but this new batch of, hopeful, information.   
Giovanni, now filled with a new sense of cocky confidence, took this moment as a small window of opportunity. Smirking, he moved his, once ridged, arms from their previous position by his sides, clasping his hands, tightly, around the extravagant harness strapped to Max’s chest, tugging the smaller man closer to him. Gio, slowly, pushed himself off the wall, allowing his body to situate itself, flush, against a half naked, concerned-looking Max. Gio could feel the anxious waves of the other man’s breath, fanning his face, urging him forward. The more confident of the two, leaned slowly, letting his eyes close, allowing his lips to softly, experimentally, caress the other man’s painted, yet plump, lips. The kiss was timid and inquisitive, yet Max didn’t recoil or particularly engage in the nervous spout of intimacy.   
Giovanni allowed himself to to sway back, away from the kiss, witnessing as Max’s eyes rested closed, before fluttering open, completely glazed over in a mist of an emptiness Gio couldn’t place.  
He wanted to say something, needed to say something, yet his mouth was hung open without a single syllable escaping, shattering the uncertain silence.   
Gio closed his eyes, waiting for something: a harsh scolding him, reiterating the professional nature of their arrangement and his pure audacity, or even a physical blow to punctuate the extend of the miscommunication.  
Yet, much to his blind surprise, his shoulders were met by a firm shove, burying his back further into the wall; he barely had time to open his eyes as an aggressive pressure was thrusted upon his lips. Max was kissing him with such an aggressively desperate curiosity that Giovanni failed to restrain a physical shudder, as a tantalising tingle harboured itself under his skin.  
He timidly slung his arms around Max’s shoulders, urging himself to kiss the man back with the same, if not a more intense, level of painful desire, always competing to rein superior over the other. It was this superiority complex that demanded Giovanni take control, urging him to trace the other man’s mouth with his tongue, attempting to jump as deep into Max as possible, in a poetic attempt to be as close to him as any human could be. The vibrations against his lips, as Max moaned sweetly, only confirmed to Gio that he was infinitely in more control than Max; yet, his hips thrusted, in a shameful slow pace, as Max inserted his leg between Gio’s quivering thighs.  
He released a whimper as Max’s thigh teased his most intimate autonomy blissfully, which hadn’t received any attentive attention in weeks, leaving the younger man weighted by desire and desperation.   
“Max,” he whimpered, his voice revealing how beautiful broken he felt, allowing his lungs oxygen in a fiend hope of rehabilitating his legs.  
“Come home with me,” Max blurted, breathless yet not a hint of hesitation in his tone.   
Gio froze, he knew what staying the night insinuated, which it resulted in, something he was completely and utter petrified of; a sense of utter vulnerability he had never wanted to subject his icy embodiment to.   
“I’m not sure.”  
“Please, I promise it’s not disgusting, it’s small and cheap but-“ Max trailed, placing space between them, obviously deflated by the flustered man rejection.  
“Yes,” Gio intervened, catching Max’s mouth, desperately wanting to re-engage the tormenting warmth, buried in his stomach, which had been extinguish sense the loss of contact.   
Max instantly floundered out of Gio’s grasp, rushing to strip himself of his harness and shoes, desperately throwing his limbs in various articles of male clothing.  
“I, I will…um, call a cab?” Gio stuttered, watching as Max sterilised his face of any remnants of Cracker, ironically causing Gio to miss witnessing the lipstick smudges he’d caused.   
Max silently offered Giovanni a wet wipe, as he ended the short call to the taxi company, which informed him a taxi would arrive shortly to escort them to Harlem. Gio raised a questioning eyebrow, causing Max to blush, “there’s a smudge of Cracker around your mouth.”  
Gio’s new adapted rosy hue matched Max’s as he wiped the evidence from his lips, smiling shyly as Max sneaked his hand into Gio’s free hand, guiding him out of the dressing room, and out of the building, into the unforgiven frosty air of New York city; yet, with Max’s hand in his, the cold didn’t phase him.  
“Come on,” Max cooed, tugging Gio, who was still engulfed in a hopeful, yet anxious, daze, into the closest taxi.  
Gio stared out the window, as Max instructed the driver where to go, attempting to ignore the crippling similarities to the night they argued, the night they taunted each other until they slept, blissfully, engulfed in each other’s arms.  
Gio felt a hand softly rest, teasingly, upon his thigh, his eyes darted to an impatient Max.  
“I’ve waited for this, to touch you, since I met you,” Max leaned to whisper in Gio’s ear. Gio’s stomach clenched as a nervous desire drift through his bloodstream. “I didn’t want to admit it, I was embarrassed I suppose, because, and I might sound pathetically obvious but we’re not exactly cut from the same cloth.”  
Gio laughed, allowing the breathless feeling penetrating his lungs to burn blissfully, relishing in the undeniable sexual sensation Max’s hand was supplying, however, he shamelessly wished he’d move it slightly North.  
The ride short ride felt infinitely longer as Max drew teasing circles on Gio’s thigh with his thumb, so as the wheels of the cab met the curb, thus halting, the flustered younger man was swarmed with a cooling sense of relief.   
They both exited the cab, Giovanni thrusting a crumbled handful of unaccounted notes at the driver, before trailing after Max.  
Max gained entrance to the building swiftly, holding the door and allowing a still wobbly Giovanni to enter and wait by the elevator, attentively.  
“Baby, the elevator doesn’t work,” Max laughs and Gio was positive if his heart wasn’t aggressively pounding his rib cage he’d probably protest walking up the stairs.  
After scaling the infinite stairs, and locating their chosen apartment, Max effortlessly, yet speedily, unlocked the door and allowed Giovanni to nervously shuffle inside.   
He stood, awkwardly, facing Max as he locked the door, desperately cursing himself for allowing himself to be nervous; he should enjoy this, he shouldn’t be so anxious, he concluded as his uneven breathing burnt his chest.   
“You can sit on the sofa, yanno,” Max laughed, gesturing to the sofa, which an embarrassed Giovanni scurried to.  
He situated himself, rigidly, in the centre of the small, moth bitten sofa, attempting to ignore the dust that catapulted into the air as he sat down.   
Max oozed confidence as he approached the younger man, who was perched, anticipating, swinging his hips as he towered over the younger man.  
He smirked, his cocky caramel irises teasing Gio’s charcoal orbs, as he slung his legs over the other man’s still quivering thighs, straddling him.  
Gio’s eyes fluttered shut, leaning his head in Max’s direction, pleading with his powerful partner, who gladly obliged, passionately conjoining their lips.   
He wasted no time, his hands exploring Gio’s waist, relishing in the soft lilac material of his jumpsuit, his lips working just as eagerly as his hands. He felt himself hardening, at am embarrassing rate, as small, muffled moans escaped Gio’s mouth when Max’s hand brushed his protruding hipbone. He attempted to remain composed, gyrating at a painfully slow, begging himself to prevent his action getting sporadic.   
He needed to undress Gio, to be able to indulge in his pale, perfect body without restrictions.   
He slowly drew his hands to the thin spaghetti strap, adored with soft lilac feathers, pausing for an answer. Giovanni swiped his tongue against Max’s attentive lips, answering silently as Max pulled the delicate material down his body.  
“Why do you have to wear such complicated clothes to take off, goddamnit!” Max laughed, breathlessly, pulling his own shirt over his head.  
Gio didn’t reply, simply pulling Max rejoin his lips, attempting to cement their bodies so close it was painful, as his anxiety only bubbled in his stomach, yet, due to pride, he couldn’t allow Max to know.   
As an attempt to allude to confidence, Gio thrusted his, unwilling, hands shakily to Max’s zipper, causing the air to thicken as he struggled to release the man’s, now softening, erection.  
“Fucking…shit, I’m sorry, I promise…it’ll be good,” Gio rambled, aggressively, mostly to himself.  
“Baby, is everything okay?” Max cooed, softly, yet concern penetrated every syllable. The flustered man looked up briefly, shamefully locking eyes with the concerned canary above him.  
“Everything is fine,” Gio huffed, returning to aggressively tugging Max’s, still buttoned, jeans. “Can I cut these off with like…scissors, I’ll buy you new ones I promise but they’re-“  
“Gio,” Max clasped the chaotic man’s hands in a strong, yet calmly, hold. “What is wrong?”  
Gio stopped, feeling infinitely smaller, terrified of the confession he was being urged to make, the confession he had to make.  
“I…have never, um, done this, I’ve never slept with anyone,” Gio sighed, unable to meet Max’s gaze, before attempting to fill the looming silence. “But I really want to, with you, I have never been so certain of anything before, ever. I know I’ll be good Max, please.”  
In a finale act of desperation he needly reattached their lips, his hands moving to rid Max of his selfish jeans. Despite, slowly, kissing the desperate man beneath him, Max stopped Gio’s hands and pulled away softly.  
“Not tonight,” Max smiled, softly, filled with a warmth at not only Giovanni wanting to waste such a milestone on him but also the fact he felt comfortable enough to open up to Max, to melt a little under his touch.  
“No, no, I want to, I want to make you come, please,” Gio interjected, whining as Max removed himself from his lap.  
“I’m not letting you lose your virginity on my ugly couch. Now, come to bed,” Max smiled, holding out his hand, watching as Gio’s pout transformed into a smirk. “To Sleep.”  
The, once again, pouting portrait followed the smaller man, allowing him to lead him to a small box room, littered with wigs and dust.  
Max stripped to his underwear, casually, feeling the younger man’s eager eyes watching him, before sliding into the, thankfully, neat, yet small, bed.   
“I thought you liked to be warm while you slept?” Gio teased, finally shedding the purple jump suit, leaving him in only his jockstrap, a regular underwear choice for Giovanni, relishing in the way Max’s eyes widened slightly, travelling south.  
“Don’t get clever, you’ll be on the sofa,” Max deadpanned, as the younger lover crawled under the sheets, instantly fitting, perfectly, in Max side.  
Max’s heart strained against his rib cage as the curled creation in his side, hesitantly, travelled an arm across Max’s chest and whimpered, contently.  
“Goodnight, Max,” Gio muffles were almost inaudible, as he smothered his face in Max’s rapidly rising chest.  
“Goodnight, darling,” Max cooed into the darkness, allowing his eyes to flutter shut.


	10. Chapter ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, angst, fluff...confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest this is not the best chapter I've written, and I'm not very happy with it, however I wanted to write a little fluffy (kinda) chapter and get it uploaded on time so here it is.

Max’s eyes fluttered open, as they did everyday, yet something was pleasantly differently this morning. He surveyed the room, ironically noticing the discarded body of clothes on the floor, rather than the legitimate body draped across his torso. Giovanni’s body added an extra layer to Max, a second skin, that felt so undeniably natural that Max’s questioned how he had survived all these years sleeping alone.  
Max shifted lightly, allowing the light to filter past his body, casting glimmers of sun upon the fraction of Giovanni that the grubby duvet wasn’t corrupting. Despite the movement, thus causing the bed to creak aggressively, accusingly, the slumbering sculpture didn’t stir, his thick dark lashes casting shadows upon his ivory cheeks.  
Max was heckled by a sense of blissful realisation; they had kissed, touched and almost done something beautifully sporadic, and Giovanni had wanted it all. This thought masked max in a coy cloak; his painful attraction to the younger man was mutual and suddenly the concept of more than a form of income appeared more tangible than ever.  
He slid out of the grasp of the mellow marvel, into the harsh cool air of the apartment, unprotected by blankets or warming limbs.  
Creeping over the memoirs of last night that were scattered haphazardly, quickly pulling on a discarded jumper and sliding into the corridor, unnoticed.  
Max continued to creep, unnoticed, through the apartment, so gently that he didn’t disturb the morning blanket of dust that coated the content of the apartment, approaching the kitchen, he was met by an unamused looking Katelyn. Max grimaced.  
“What are you doing, Cracks?” Katelyn sighed, her eyes swimming with sympathy yet her tone was laced with judgement.  
“Making breakfast?”  
“Don’t play dumb, Max,” Katelyn retorted, grasping Max’s hand, which was reaching for the bread bin. “He’s a child and, furthermore, he’s your boss, this is so dangerous and-“  
“We didn’t sleep together,” Max interjected, bluntly, not meeting Katelyn’s eyes. “He’s a virgin and I want him to be sure and for it to be perfect, not on my shitty coach in my shitty apartment.”  
Katelyn paused, wide eyed, as if ever word Max has uttered was completely unbelievably, unfathomably wrong.  
“You can’t be seriously considering being his first Max, please tell me it’s a joke.”  
“Why? He wants me Katelyn, he wants me to be his first, he trusts me,” Max was pleading, desperately, to convince the pair that he was correct.  
“Max, I just don’t want you to get hurt and lose your job,” Katelyn smiled sadly, yet this only spurred Max on, aggressive coaxing his body to react.  
“I don’t give a fuck about the money anymore, Katelyn, it’s more than that, he’s a person to me, not an cash machine,” Max’s outburst caused Katelyn to sigh, her head shaking in sympathy.  
“Max,” She started, before stopping, waiting for him to willingly look at her, witness the reasoning in her eyes. Alas, he simply poured coffee into two mismatched, chipped mugs. “Don’t sleep with the boy, please.”  
“The boy has a name, Katelyn, and we actually care about each other,” Max huffed, turning to leave, visibly aggravated.  
“You genuinely believe that, Cracks? Because I’m not sure,” Katelyn’s voice was warm, filled to the brim with kindness and concern, yet her words stung, instantly freezing Max’s body, his blood running cold at the insinuation.  
“Okay,” Max croaked, his grip tightening, upon the mugs, with so much pressure he was surprised they didn’t shatter. “I won’t sleep with him.”  
Max scurried back to his comfortable cave of a room, taking the first opportunity to abandon the conversation, and a still concerned looking Katelyn, in the kitchen.  
Max silently slid back into the room, expecting to see a still slumbering Giovanni, mouth open agape to allow soft, sleepy murmurs to escape; yet, he was met by an awake boy, sat upright in the bed, reading one of the many holiday brochures Max has stuffed to the side of his bed.  
Max had never travelled abroad, he’d barely travelled out of his state, yet he enjoyed basking in awe at the idealised images printed in glossy, overpriced brochures, while he drank his morning coffee or before he went to bed.  
“Got you coffee,” Max smiled, handing the mug to a beaming Giovanni.  
“Just doing some morning reading, why do you have so many holiday magazines?” Gio questioned, sipping his coffee slowly, a warmth spreading through his body as Max flashes an embarrassed grin.  
“I like to imagine being there, if I’ve had a hard day,” Max smiled, sliding into the bed, keeping a few cautious inches between himself and the half naked man, who promptly closed the space, lounging against Max’s chest. “I’ve never even travelled out of America.”  
“What if you didn’t have to imagine?” Gio asked slowly, smirking as he slithered his body to view Max’s face. Max’s once troubled eyes widened and gleamed with a wonders and curiosity.  
“What are you insinuating?” Max cautiously pondered, running a shaky hand through the lounging lover’s hair, subconsciously.  
“Right,” Gio sat up straight, turning to Max with a smirk lacing his features. “We’ll flick through the brochure, and randomly stop, that’s where we’ll go.”  
“That’s so cliche… Give it to me.”  
Giovanni gladly passed the brochure to Max who, excitedly, flicked through the pages, rapidly, before abruptly stopping.  
“Paris.”  
Max strained his eyes as they rolled so violently at the beaming beauty, evidently content with Max’s blind guess of location.  
“The city of love,” He smirked, attempting the clasp Max’s lips in a kiss, who squirmed out of his grasp, chuckling.  
“The city of brush your teeth before you kiss me! C’mon miss charming, spare tooth brushes are under the sink,” Max smiled, as a sulking Giovanni, followed him into the disgustingly, damp, dire hole of a bathroom, the light still fluttering and spasming as max fished under the sink for an unused toothbrush.  
The pair brushed the teeth in silence, comfortably staring at themselves in the smudged, hazy mirror. Max felt relief at the overbearing minty foam, finally washing the stale taste of sleep and Giovanni out of his mouth.  
When the final remains for the foam had been discarded in the sink, the younger man turned to face Max, a mischievous gleam obscuring his clear dark irises.  
“Can I please kiss you now?” He pouted slightly, as Max felt his breath hitch at the mild beg.  
Max wasn’t certain if his head nodded before his back, gently, made contact with the frosted tiles of the bathroom wall, but he found himself, shamefully, melting into the the touch of the persistent pulchritude, feeling as if he’d been relieved of a heavy burden as Gio’s playful lips made contact with his own. It was a soft contact, their lips caressing, and Max pondered how long it would take for him to familiarise himself with the younger man’s mouth; how long it would take for the inquisitive movements to become knowing movements. The enduring marvel softly clasped Max’s bottom lip between his own, sucking gently, as if questioning the correctness of his actions. Max, on any other occasion, would have chuckled at the younger man’s timid bravery, yet he found every fibre of his body shivering, his lungs struggling to retrieve oxygen, smothered in a shameful, yet adoring, desire that he was painfully aware he was forbidden to act upon.  
The routine of Gio’s lips softly smothering Max’s was therapeutic, the older man reassuring Gio with small moans or whimpers when he did something of Max’s liking, sauntered on for minutes until a inquisitive, icy hand made contact with Max’s toned inner thigh, causing his body to convulse with lust and caution.  
“Gio, we should probably head back to my room, get ready…do something,” Max, flustered and urgent to escape the dangerous desire sprinting through his veins, stumbled, freeing himself from Gio’s grasp. Despite the threatening shake of his legs, he managed to escape the tension filled bathroom, dashing to his room, closely followed by a confused Giovanni.  
“Right,” Max sighed, flinging himself upon the messily discarded bed, that was now scoldingly cold. “What shall we do today?”  
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I need some wild, couture, brown cow stunning new clothes for Pairs, mon ange,” Giovanni smiled, situating himself close enough to Max that his hairs flickered, goosebumps rising to the surface of his skin, but far away enough that Max craved his touch.  
“Shit,” Max gasped. “I have no clothes appropriate for Paris, I have no clothes appropriate for anywhere other than the Harlem subway line.”  
“Max,” the calmer man deadpanned, placing a dangerously soft, cold hand upon Max’s thigh. “You are invited to get anything you please, on me, see it as one of your sugar baby gifts- a reward for last night.”  
Max felt a blush creep up his back, coiling itself around his neck, forcing himself not to bite his lip as Giovanni winked at him, referencing the provocative memories of the night before.  
“Giovanni, I can’t accept a new wardrobe, which is what I need,” Max smiled meekly, shrinking into himself slightly, embarrassed of the lack of clothing and money he possessed, momentarily.  
“Max, it’s my role as you’re perfect, hot, caring sugar daddy to get you whatever your heart desires, baby, so put some clothes on, we’re going shopping, okay?” Gio smirked, emphasising the word hot, causing Max to fondly roll his eyes.  
“Only in Walmart,” Max smirked, coming to a conclusion that he wouldn’t go soundly. Gio’s eyes widened, swimming in horror, his mouth hanging open dramatically.  
“I think the fuck not,” Gio dramatically concluded, shaking his head to the point Max questioned if they would need to stop at the hospital before the shopping trip, worrying Giovanni had acquired whiplash. “You’re my baby, you need to look fabulously…fantastic or it’ll reflect on ME!”  
“Don’t call me baby like you’re a top, honey, I know a bottom when I see one, I bottomed for years, but I’ve been topping since two thousand and ten,” Max laughed, feeling a heat rise to his cheeks at his flustered oversharing; because as much as he wished with every fibre of his body, that his stomach didn’t spark with a sickly fizzing when Giovanni adorned him with pet names, the feeling of rapid fuzzing in his stomach was undeniable.  
“You’re a top?”  
“Yes?”  
“Wait, I coulda swore you were saying you were a top?” Gio cackled proudly, eyes wrinkling in such a carefree perfection, Max felt a jolt in his stomach, replacing the buzzing, as Max’s hand made light contact with his upper arm.  
“You’re such a brat, damnit,” Max laughed, but suddenly the menacing marvel’s once breezy demeanour hardened, becoming seductively serious.  
“Brat, hm?” He drawled, fluttering his eyes shut as he messily raked a hand through his hair. Max rolled his eyes as the cliche attempt as seduction.  
“Yes, you’re a brat, Gio,” Max recited, in return, urging the smirking sculpture to crawl closer to Max.  
“Punish me then, hm?” Gio quirked an eyebrow, his smirk dropping when he was met with muffled laughter.  
“Gio, you’re a virgin, you don’t want to get punished, what do you even mean by that? Are you just repeating lines you’ve heard in porn?” Max chuckled, disbelievingly, as Gio’s eyes hardened and his mouth moulded into a discontent pout.  
“Guys love virgins,” Gio defended pointedly, glaring as Max threw his head back in pure entertainment, letting out a hearty cackle, slapping the palms of his hands together comedically.  
“You really are a porno-wannabe virgin,” Max moved to stand up, trying to ignore the deflated energy oozing from the mellowing marvel.  
Max felt a suddenly suffocating, all consuming, weight thrusted upon his body, making his physically slump as his mind was swarmed with Katelyn’s previous words; which suddenly penetrated his brain to a discomforting level.  
Of course he has contemplated Gio superior looks; his soft, creamy ivory hues contrasting with his deep, charcoal details, Giovanni was the perfect portrait and Max couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t shudder when catching his reflection in a deceitful surface. It was a system which a looming unstable equilibrium; yet, until now, Max hadn’t cared. He hadn’t cared because Giovanni wanted him, wanted to share a significant, romantic milestone with him; yet now, as the younger man quietly pouted, appearing wounded under Max’s mockery, he wasn’t sure of the validity of Giovanni’s lustful attempts. Max was painfully aware when you introduce sex into an equation it gets chaotically messy, he was aware how dangerously unpredictable sex made the entire situation; he was now at constant risk of becoming attached, as his blind denial reassured him that then bridge was yet to be crossed, and getting hurt, as he wasn’t lying when he said that the money was not the driving factor anymore, was not yet a probability. He was also aware that sex welcomed corruption, which suddenly made every single of Giovanni minuscule actions questionable. The younger, liberated liability was openly carefree where relationships were concerned: he didn’t date, this factor, which had previously slipped Max’s attention, was now scarily all consuming. It thrusted a realisation upon Max: Giovanni’s carefree dating nature probably applied to sex, thus meaning that shedding his virginity with Max was simply out of convenience rather than out of adoration and trust.  
“Right,” Max hadn’t realised his mouth had started moving until his timid voice echoed within the awkwardly silent room. “Lets get ready.”  
Giovanni nodded, silently, thankful for the break in tension.  
“Max, can I borrow some clothes?” Gio asked, standing awkwardly, crossing his arms, protecting his heart. Max silently cursed himself for causing Gio’s closure yet he knew it was necessary to protect himself.  
“Just wear what you wore yesterday, Gio,” Max sighed.  
“No,” Gio shook his head, disbelievingly, moving closer to Max, forcing his pulse to quicken. “You don’t understand, what if someone sees me wearing the same clothes? It’ll reflect badly on me, and then my mother; I’ve never worn the same thing twice!”  
“You really are a brat,” Max chuckled, affectionately, pacing to his wardrobe, allowing his hand to penetrate the pile of clothes, extracting a random article of clothes. His lime green vest. Max pictured the meticulous marvel sulking in the ghastly garment, causing Max to cackle lightly under his breath.  
“Here, baby,” Max smirked, thrusting the garment at a insulted Giovanni.  
“You’re a cruel fucking man, Maxwell Heller, a cruel man,” Gio grumbled, begrudgingly pulling the tank top over his slender frame. “You’re lucky this smells like you because it’s hideous and not my colour.”  
Max wasn’t certain if it was the intimate notion that Giovanni enjoyed his personal, unique scent or the fact that he despised the awkward silence that had been penetrating their lazy afternoon, since Max had belittled the younger man; yet he found his mouth moving, “every colour is your colour.”  
It surprised Max even more when, despite his inner turmoil, he closed the gap between himself and the blushing beauty and lightly, and extremely briefly, pressed his lips to Giovanni’s, feeling the younger man un-tense, relaxing under the gentle interaction.  
“Shall we go?” Max questioned, moving away, resulting in Giovanni whimpering at the sudden cool breeze hitting his body.  
“Yeah.”

They had been patrolling the almost empty shop which, Max was painfully aware, was far too expensive due to the noise his pink plimsolls made upon the detailed tiled floors; and the startled look, followed by the routine of eyes snapping up and down his body in a dehumanising manner, that the shop assistants adorned when he trailed through the door after Giovanni.  
Max stood, absentmindedly behind the beaming, and prancing, Giovanni, simply a clothes rack to hold any garment Giovanni liked or believed would look “sickening, no?” on Max.  
Max was far too enthralled, and horrified, by the jumper with a price tag longer than his phone number to noticed Giovanni’s excited words, calling him impatiently. It was only when the impatient ice sculpture threw his long, gentle arms around Max’s shoulders, instantly breaking the gawking trance.  
“Go try on your clothes, baby,” He whispered, softly slurring, his breath catching blissfully on Max’s ear.  
“Um, it’s fine, they probably fit,” Max stumbled, wanting to rid himself of the possibilities of being alone in a changing room, waiting for Giovanni to make judgement.  
“Now, Max.”  
In an act of obedience, he simply nodded and followed the perfectly fake shop assistant to the unnecessarily luxurious changing rooms. He smiled, nodding at the faux beaming woman, desperately attempting to rid himself of her presence. Max, after her inevitable exit, pulled the silk curtain urgently, turning his back to the mirror, shamefully, stripping himself down to his underwear and desperately grabbing the first article of clothing, and sliding on the tan trousers.  
Max finally, sucking in a breath, faced his reflection, basking in the way the tight, yet lightweight, material stretched flatteringly across his toned thighs and ass.  
Max’s attention was stolen as a small, smirking head poked through the gap in the curtains.  
Gio slipped a awestruck, “wow,” of his mouth, and Max felt similarly to a small, beautiful bird being seized up by poachers.  
Giovanni silently slipped into the changing room, which now felt infinitely smaller, pushing his chest flush to Max back.  
“You look so good, Max, these trousers fit you so well; we’re definitely getting them,” Giovanni cooed, shifting his hands over Max’s chest, causing an involuntary shiver to consume Max’s body, thus plastering a smirk across Gio’s mouth.  
“Gio, you don’t have to spend money on me,” Max sighed, leaning into Gio’s touch.  
“It’s literally my job Max,” The mischievous marvel smiled, his charcoal irises darkening slightly, causing the confounded canary’s stomach to burst into a fizzling heat. “Turn around, Max.”  
He didn’t dare question the gleam in Giovanni’s eyes, instead he simply followed his instructions; ignoring the pleading voice in the back of his mind. He was more than aware of how chaotically fucked his brain was; he was in a constant state of realising how risky this situation was, vowing to take a step back from the cursed creation that was Giovanni Palandrani, yet he always found himself shaking, lustfully, in the younger man’s arms.  
His back instantly met the cooling touch of the glass mirror, which contrasted with Giovanni’s hot mouth, savaging his mouth, mercilessly, as if he’d been craving it all day; which Giovanni shamelessly had.  
The eager man quickly journeyed to Max’s neck, nipping and licking as he pleased, as Max blissfully relaxed against the glass. Until Gio’s had reached for Max’s zipper. Panic absorbed Max, he couldn’t allow himself to be weak, to betray Katelyn and risk himself.  
“Gio,” Max had intended his voice to be filled a threatening worry yet it escaped his mouth a moan, only spurring Giovanni on.  
“G-gio, stop.”  
The body above him stilled, hardening, of which Max was thankful, yet he was filled with a sense of regret.  
“It should be special,” Max smiled, reassuringly, ignoring the voice, which it masked itself with Katelyn’s tone, shaming him for leading Gio on, convincing him it will happen.  
“But I actually got your pants unzipped this time!” Gio jokingly protested, a smile returning to his face. “It’s fine, I appreciate the sentiment, you should probably get finished, so we can leave.”  
Max smiled as Giovanni slipped out of the changing room, finally feeling free to breath.  
Max quickly shuffled out of the trousers, pulling on his prior clothes, randomly selecting clothes to escape the remaining tension in the changing room.  
He knew he had theoretically broken his promise to Katelyn; he knew he had be banned from having sex with Gio, which admittedly he hadn’t, but he had insinuated, an unspoken promise, to Giovanni that it was inevitable for him to be his first, to take a non-refundable gift. This lead him to a deafening conclusion: it was either loyalty to the man who had given, and promise to continue giving, Max so much, making him feel expensive and wanted or the woman who had been by his side, paid his half of the rent, when he has nothing but flies in his band account.  
He was truly fucked.


	11. Chapter eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lovers embark on a plane ride to Paris, during which Max needs a helping hand.  
> Consider this part one of the Paris chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took me so long, initially I intended to write one mega chapter comprising the whole trip, however I have decided to split it into at least two chapters (taking a leaf out of bubastis's book.) Massive thanks to dis_connect who, as always, motivated me to write and holyaquaria who read over the lil saucy scene, honey; also I just love talking about these ladies so I can't help myself.

Max’s face was cracked into a proud, yet anxious, smile as he tuned out the hustle and bustle of the unfamiliar playing field of an airport, instead focusing on the clicking noise of his hot pink suitcase and the tall, swaying hips of the confident man in front of him.  
Giovanni was leading an excitedly inexperienced Max through the clusters of tourists and eager travellers, of course they wouldn’t be flying with them; Giovanni wanted to give Max the experience, considering he had never been on a plane and the vast duration of the flight, thus making sure to book his regular first class travel, in his mother’s private jet.  
“Keep close, Max, don’t follow the crowd, follow me,” Gio warned, over his shoulder, smirking slightly at the exaggerated sigh that met him.  
“I’m older than you, Gio, don’t baby me,” Max sighed, yet nothing could falter his smile or deter the thrashing stir in his stomach.  
“I am your sugar daddy and you are my sugar baby, baby, don’t fight it, Maxwell,” Gio smirked, prior to being greeted by a smiling man, as they trailed down a secluded corridor, absent of any other passengers. Max felt, momentarily, anxious at the lack of people, surely Giovanni didn’t plan to lead him a stray, to an unfortunate and dark end? He knew, of course, he was being paranoid; it was a cruel coping strategy of Max’s compulsive need for control, for a sense of knowing, yet, until this moment, he didn’t feel anxious at the mysterious veil masking the menacing marvel.  
Gio handed the assisting leader a bundle of papers before thrusting his case to the man and turning to Max.  
“They’ll take care of our cases, follow me Max,” Gio smiled, warmly and gentle, grasping Max’s cold and clammy palm, intertwining their hands.  
Of course, if Max had been smart, he would had noticed the way Gio’s, normally cold and dull, irises burst with flames of adoption, reawakening the embers of his dampened eyes, whenever he glanced in his direction, the way he swayed his hips just a little bit more when he thought Max was studying his body, the way his cheeks flushed with blossoming pink hues when Max laughed at something he mumbled, incoherently to most; if he was truly smart, he would have used this evidence carefully to disprove any falters of confidence Katelyn’s words had reinforced in Max’s mind when the premise of their relationship was questioned. Yet, in some fields, Max was painfully foolish, and as Giovanni’s eyes sparked with a beautifully unidentifiable blaze when stealing glimpses at the oblivious overwhelming man, his hand Max’s squeezing in adoring reassurance, Max was extremely foolish.  
He obeyed, without question, following the confident leading man, being guided, in a trace of awe, out of the building and onto a sleek, aloof jet, set aside for the average commercial jets. 

“You’re kidding,” Max squealed, as the clogs in his brain, finally filled in the blanks (which considering the massive SN initials sprawled across the side of the jet, was embarrassingly slow.)  
Giovanni simply paused at the bottom of the stairs leading to the waiting, open door of the jet and smiled, proudly, gesturing for Max to board the plane before him in a desperate attempt to seem gentlemanly.  
Max totted up the stairs, feeling similarly to the beautifully fake celebrities of the golden era, like facaded characters that were simply names on stars down Hollywood’s walk of fame; despite the critical fake fashion of these icons, it sure felt glamorous.  
He plunged himself inside the luxurious mental can, gawking at the lavish interior, painted black with white accents and, if Max had done his research into the life of Giovanni Palandrani-Needles, he’d have known how fitting it was for the gothically glamorous rockstar family that Gio shared his bloodline, shamefully, with.  
“You gonna stand there the whole plane ride or?” Gio smirked, moving past Max, brushing his arm lightly and thus sending volts of blissful electricity through Max’s body, as he coyly resided himself on one of the plush sofas. “Care to sit?”  
Max didn’t reply, he simply waddled, timidly, to the opposing crunch, placing himself delicately opposite Giovanni, whom simply smirked, signalling to a man who was waiting attentively by the door.  
“Can we get some champagne, my friend seems tense,” He smiled to the man, who fetched him an elegant bottle of silver bubbles, bursting blissfully, eagerly awaiting to be tasted. “Then you may leave and we shall take off, hm?”  
Max beamed as Giovanni poured the luxurious liquid into a tall glass, clasped by Max’s shaking hand, before raising it to his lips and allowing the sweet, expensive nectar to trickle down his throat. He watched, wide eyed, as the man left the jet, moments before it roared to life. However, his initial excited was replaced by something else, a sense of undeniable fear and anxiety which consumed Max’s body, leaving him paralysed; a feeling of pleading his body to move, his mouth to speak, to do anything, yet he remained still, like a backseat driver in his own body.  
Ask the plane cruelly wandered down the track Max considered all the unnatural aspects of flying; humans were not built for fly and it suddenly dawned on Max that maybe this was for good reason.  
“Max, are you okay?” Gio smiled meekly, watching as the man opposite him became quietly more distressed as the plane ascended into the sky.  
“I just…I’ve never experienced flying and I don’t know what to expect?” Max struggled to glue the fragments of his sentence together and waiting for Gio to mock him, claiming that being unable to speak was his ‘thing,’ yet the mockery never came; instead, he simply opened his arms, gesturing Max to situate himself inside them, protected.  
“Trust me, you’ll feel better with some contact…grounding you,” Gio smiled a small yet mightily reassuring smile, causing Max to rise from his shameful seat, on shaky legs and crawling into Giovanni’s lap, feeling the arms curl around himself; for the first time Max was consumed with trust.  
Max found it difficult to wholeheartedly trust people; of course he has never found himself sneaking his way through partners’ phones, however he would be lying if he claimed he’d never considered it. When Max had a carefully created idea in his head he couldn’t allow himself to drop it, it would cripple his mind until he acted on it, which usually ended with an argument laced with spite and resulting in heartbreak.  
“Max, you should sleep, I can close the blinds and we can lie down; it should help calm you,” The younger man’s voice was soft and full of an experienced wisdom that embarrassed Max wholeheartedly, yet he was seeking refuge in Gio’s confident arms so instead of allowing the drowning feeling of shame to consume him, he simply nodded against his chest.  
The older, anxious man whimpered quietly at the loss of heat as Gio shifted out of his reach, standing to shut all the blinds of the plane, blocking the sun from penetrating the tin transportation. However, the heat was only briefly extinguished as Max felt Gio’s hand softly touch his shoulder, as the younger man sat down, guiding him to lie on top of his comforting frame, his head on his chest.  
Max wasn’t certain how long he just laid there, inhaling and exhaling Gio’s warm, calming scent, yet his body was completely numb, nestled comfortably, while his brain buzzed vividly at any dangerous consideration; until he felt it. It was barely a brush, less than a tickle, yet it was the intimate area that the touch resided itself, that made Max suck in a breath, stilling his rapid thoughts.  
“Can I?” Gio’s voice ghosted the room, hanging in the painful silence that ensued. “I obviously won’t if you don’t want me to, but it calms me down when it’s a long flight; if you want, it might help?”  
Max’s brain urged, pleaded tirelessly, for him to say no, stop it, recoil in anger or disgust or confusion, yet he couldn’t; instead, much to his dismay, he felt his hips buck into Gio’s hand, pleading desperately against his will. He waited. He waited for Gio to smirk or mock him, instead he was met with dark eyes, laced with the harmonious concoction of lust and care, as the younger man shifted resulted in Max sitting, waiting, on his lap.  
Slowly, with soft caresses and soothing touches, ghosting Max’s skin, making his body hair stand to attention, Gio traced Max’s body making him beg for his body to be touched. Gio’s face mirrored the lustful anxiety that Max’s face was harbouring.  
Max shifted himself, with nervous hands, out of his trousers and waited for Gio to talk, or move, or do anything.  
“tell me if I’m…doing it wrong,” Gio smiled, slowly sliding his hand Max’s boxers, lowering his hand to Max’s cock, slowly ghosting over the tip, causing a whimper to escape Max’s mouth.  
The mischievous marvel smiled, softly without a dash of his usual coyness, moving the pad of his thumb over Max’s slit, spreading the small amount of pre-cum that had accumulated there.  
When Giovanni was satisfied with Max’s hardness, he slowly wrapped his hand after his shaft, stilling his movements.  
“I’m going to start moving now, okay?” Giovanni questioned, timidly, yet Max’s buzzing body found this careful nature endearing, as Max softly thrusted in Giovanni’s hand.  
His movements were soft and caring, anxious that one harsh movement would break the glass man on his lap, as his hand drifted up and down Max’s cock.  
“G-gio, harder,” Ma sighed, before cringing. “Fuck, that sounded like a porno line.”  
Gio laughed, silently, yet tightened his grip on Max’s shaft, his movement gaining momentum, twisting his hand as he moved.  
As the whirling sensation built up in Max stomach, more whispered moans caught the air, urging Gio on, to continue until he met his aim of making Max feel calm.  
“Gio, I’m going to cum,” Max sighed, bliss consuming his body.  
“Cum for me, Max,” Gio smiled, moving his hand with a faster urgency.  
“Say it again,” Max pleaded, feeling himself reaching the edge, so desperately.  
“Cum for me, baby.”  
Max met his climax in aggressive bliss, moaning Gio’s name profusely as he came, shaking violently into the younger man under him.  
It was only as he came down, the cum leaking into the fabric of his boxers, that it finally hit him: the guilt.  
He had already misconstrued the sexual nature of their agreement and now he had, just as well, confirmed that they were going to have sex, he was going to be Giovanni’s shameful first.  
Along with guilt, a dense weight hung heavy in his stomach, the dense weight of anger, so heavy, that it not only consumed his mind but his physical body.  
He had failed Katelyn and thus failed himself; he’d certainly fail Giovanni when the intimate time finally arose and Max would be required to extinguish the lustful flame.  
He remained silent, clasped against Gio’s slowly rising chest.  
“Do you want me to?” Max asked, emptily, into the cold silence.  
“No, no, it’s fine, sleep,” Gio smiled, softly, instantly adding, “Just get rid of your boxers and pull on your pants, we’ll grab you clean ones at the hotel.”  
Max stood and, ironically, turn from Giovanni’s view to abandon his clinging boxers and shrug back on his trousers.  
Max’s body felt relaxed, however, it was a devastating contrast to his mental state; as his back laid flush against Giovanni’s chest, his mind was swarmed with his failure.  
He didn’t sleep a wink the entire flights; mocking hours upon hours of the mellow marvel’s breathing, rising and falling, underneath him, which normally would have comforted him instead plagued his mind.  
Of course, he considered the loop holes of the agreement: Katelyn had clarified sex as an area of avoidance, however, fumbling, caring hand jobs, served as only to ease Max, were not sex. They were a promise. A promise of something more than just a friendly, casual visit to Paris.  
As the plane hit the runway, reunited with the ground, Max was filled with dread. His discarded, dirty underwear clutched in his hand, as they left the plane.  
“Max just throw them away,” Gio sighed, watching the man opt to hold his stained boxer than his hand. “I’ll buy you new ones.”  
Mac rolled his eyes, channelling all of the shame and guilt Giovanni had caused him, scowling at the younger man, “you can’t just throw money at things, Giovanni, I’ll just clean them.”  
“Fine, fine,” the younger, now agitated, man sighed. He uttered something in a language Max identified as French (he’d studied it since he was a child, at his mother’s request, and was close to fluent) addressing a man to take Max’s underwear the best dry cleaners in Paris.  
Max felt a heat in his stomach, an inky black pool of want and lust, picturing all the sexy things they could share in french, the language of love.  
“How long have you been speaking French?” Max questioned, warmly, handing his dirty underwear to the awaiting man.  
“I started taking lessons as soon as Sharon…adopted me,” Gio sighed, as the man trailed away with Max’s underwear, the only reminder of their intimate moment. Max could sense something was wrong; however if he knew anything by now, it was to let Giovanni sizzle and bubble until he burns himself out.  
“I didn’t know you were adopted,” Max smiled, carefully treading, knowing that Giovanni had a fiery temper when he felt the need to light the furnace.  
“You haven’t researched anything have you? Do you even know who my mother is?” Gio sounded somewhat relieved, yet there was a biting tone in his voice.  
“Um, I can’t say I do,” Max smiled, meekly, yet he felt a warm shower of relief over him when Gio mirrored his smile.  
“Refreshing,” He smiled, a small genuine smile, something that would have once passed Max’s notice.  
“What do you mean refreshing?” Max inquired, forcing the return of the disgusted scowl.  
“Look, Max, we’re here to have…fun, you don’t open up to me about your life so I don’t feel the need to cry to you,” Gio snarled, yet his tired tone showed that his heart wasn’t in the retort.  
Instead of replying, Max simply slipped his hand into Giovanni’s hand, feeling the flame relax at the contact.  
They arrived at the grand hotel abruptly from the airport. The vast, white exterior was minuscule in glamour in comparison to the interior. The lobby of the hotel was chic, canvassed completely with white swatches, gleaming glass and marble floors; Max finally felt a fraction of the glamour he channelled into Cracker. Max felt his posture straighten, standing tall, finally feeling a sense of belonging in a place he should feel so out of place.  
Max wriggled his arm into Giovanni’s, linking their arms contently, earning a blissfully baffled look from the tall, tantalising man.  
“What are you doing, Max?” Gio smiled, giddily.  
“Well, I can’t walk into a place like this, without a pretty little thing on my arm, baby,” Max smirked, his eyes glistening with a comfortable humour that Giovanni had decided he was definitely fond of.  
The younger man rolled his eyes, however, the beaming smile was evident on his face as his voice was laced with a smug satisfaction, “you think I’m pretty?”  
“You know you’re damn pretty Gio,” Max laughed lightly, as Giovanni checked them in, chatting to the pretty young lady, at the desk, who was painfully well put together.  
The were quickly escort to their rooms after Giovanni begrudging muttered something about ‘Needles.”  
“Max noted the way they weren’t required to carry anything, as they trailed though the vast expanses of identical doors along identical corridors.  
Giovanni smiled, his arm still intertwined with Max’s, as they arrived at their hotel room, only untying their arms to unlock the door and bid the assign staff goodbye.  
Gio strolled into the room, unfazed by the sheer amount of luxury in one room, flopping onto the mammoth bed, closely followed by an awestruck Max; Max tried to avoid touching anything that seemed too expensive, incase he dirtied it with his sheer presence.  
“Baby, come lie with me,” Gio muffled voice sounded throughout the room, urging Max to move next to him, feeling an arm pull him into the taller man’s side.  
“We still have some time, if you’d like to explore?” Gio smiled, as Max tucked himself into his chest, the guilt from previous events drizzling away.  
“Yes, that sounds amazing,” Max gushed smiling as he watched Gio’s face alight with glee.  
“Yes, let me get dressed, I’ll be quick. Maybe change as well, you need underwear,” Giovanni smirked, causing a groan to erupt from Max, as the taller man scurried away to his suitcase.  
Max wasn’t certain what he would be required to wear, and thus resulted to pulling on clean underwear and the tan trousers he’d be ravished in, which in the changing room with the impatient ingenious ; he had to restrain the desperation Giovanni had showcased that day as he felt the tight trousers tighten infinitely.  
“Bonjour, I’m ready!” A far too enthusiastically cheery voice called, causing Max to instantly turn around. His mouth dried slightly at the sight.  
Giovanni was clad in the tightest black, leather look jeans Max had ever seen, a carefully slouching red turtled neck adorned his body, which was topped, by perfectly placed red beret.  
Max’s eyes studied the jeans a little too closely, urging Giovanni’s plump limbs to smirk.  
“Like what you see?” he asked coyly, twirling slowly on the spot, pausing to allow Max to catch glimpses at his ass.  
“You’re a real tease Giovanni,” Max smirked, for the first time this trip, reaching to grip the younger man without guilt or hesitation. Gio felt Max thrust his crotch against his ass, softly, teasingly, causing the younger man to whimper in anticipation.  
“Later,” the words slipped out of Max’s mouth before he could stop them, and as the content creation nestled the back of his head against Max’s shoulder, he knew he had now promised; moreover, he’d promised tonight.  
The younger man pulled away first, lunging towards the door of the hotel room, turning briefly to smile at Max.  
“Let’s explore, my love.”


	12. Chapter twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens in Paris stays I'm Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it has been too long and I'd promise to update more regularly but I have a busy week ahead so I make no promising. I hope this lives up to people's expectations, I'd be lying if I said I was happy with it, but it'll have to do.  
> I'd appreciate any and all feedback!

They creeped around corners of Paris, as an eager Max stared in awe at all the secretive backstreets, sheltered by towering architecture, that Giovanni knew; streets that would go dismissed by the average tourist.  
However, Giovanni was not the average tourist.  
As they sat in a quaint french cafe, that mirrored those in the glossy pages of Vogue, Max watched the way Giovanni studied a deep oak bookcase, his finger skimming the crumbling spines of each of the books, his other hand clutching a warm mug of coffee; he seemed to fit.  
He fitted to perfectly in the very scene, that Max would have been certain he was staring at a perfectly forged painting, if he wasn’t absentmindedly aware of the burning heat of the mug against his palm.  
“Max, we should should read on the balcony, get some wine, relax,” Giovanni smiled, still tracing the books, not turning his gaze to address the man; Max was thankful he wasn’t caught staring as he moved to stand next to the man, drinking in his bodily warmth.  
“Sounds like bliss,” Max smiled, drawing an arm around the other man, catching glimpses of the taller man, his eyes glinting with adoration.  
Max, of course, still harboured some level of guilt, however, he was allowed to touch the man, the only areas truly off limits was making love and feeling it. Yet, as they explored the twists and turns of the aloof streets of the capital of love, Max couldn’t help feeling that maybe what happened in Paris, stayed in Paris.  
The taller man turned to face the glistening gaze of adoration Max was offering him; the comfortable man seemed to relax further under Max’s gaze, beaming giddily.  
“I’m glad you came on this trip with me,” he sighed, leaning into Max’s hold more.  
“I’m glad I’m getting to see Paris, it’s always been on my list of places to see, but I never thought I’d actually experience a place like this,” Max gushed, allowing himself to feel comfortable with the cool creation, releasing the bliss that was churning in his stomach, in his every vein.  
The taller man said nothing, simply smiled and raised the elaborate mug to his plump lips, allowing a warm sip to wash down his throat, taking his time to enjoy the bittersweet taste of the CUP OF COFFEE, feeling a pair of soft eyes still glued to him, studying his ever move, as if they were watching a movie.  
“Where do you want to go after this? I know a fabulous little bookshop around the corner,” Gio smiled, turning his attention to the attentive man, smirking slightly. “You might want to stop staring and start drinking, your coffee will go cold.”  
Max gulped down his coffee with aggressive vigour, attempting to drown his embarrassment of being caught staring.  
Sometimes Max detested the way Giovanni could stroll through a room, do a daily task, and his eyes not even flutter in his direction; as he walked to the door, he didn’t cast a single glance over his shoulder, yet he reached the door. He simply sighed.  
“Maxwell, are you coming, my dear?”  
Max wasn’t certain when the shift had happened, whether it was as they abandoned the plane, and thus America, or if it had always been there, that sense of magic. Max knew it was painfully cliche but as they had wandered the twists paths of France, guided by the magical marvel, he had truly become a victim to his allure; his sense of enchantment. Max hated the fact that he now looked at the younger man though a rose tinted looking glass, being greeted by the reflection of a spellbinding Gatsby character he has never noticed before; the way he could snap his fingers and gain anything and everything he wanted, the way he appeared as a popular urban legend that no one was ever certain was true, yet the way he seemed such a curious outsider regardless of his power. The way he was standing, so casually, so charmingly, a playful glisten in his eye made Max painfully aware of how dangerous this was, a thought he fathomed daily, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care; he clung to the hope that Pairs could warm the cockles of his lover’s heart and trap him into love, the way it was doing to the smaller man.  
He simply nodded and scampered after him, discarding his mug on an empty table on the way.  
They wandered with purpose, before shortly coming to a bridge adorned with metal locks, scribbled with the initials for star crossed and long forgotten lovers alike. Max admired the way love was so celebrated in this city, the way he was unable to escape the warm claps of adoration; he assumed this was not the place for a broken heart.  
They turned the corner onto an isolated, empty street, with uneven cobbled pavement, thus meaning Max was permanently cautious of falling.  
Giovanni guided him into a small, desolate book shop, one Max was certain contained an abundance of secrets and stories waiting to be shared.  
Gio smiled, with a mild blissful excitement, muttering a curt “Bonjour,” to the lady behind the desk, before venturing into the rows of shelves. He seemed at ease, in interest, parading casually along the corridors of bookshelves, scanning the titles of books, occasionally pulling one out to study it.  
“What are you feeling like, Max?” He asked, not bothering to pause his browsing the blurb of a book. “Romance, crime…erotica?”  
Max let out a chuckle, moving instinctively closer to the taller man.  
“Erotica, like in book form, is that still a thing?”  
Gio’s eyes widened in disbelief, turning to face Max.  
“Of course it is, are you crazy? Fifty shades of Grey was massive!”  
“Fifty shades, did you read that?” Max cackled, his shoulders rising and falling is an aggressive routine.  
“It was just an example, Max,” Giovanni rolled his eyes, pausing slightly. “But, yes I read it.”  
“You’re kidding, this is a joke, you’re pulling my leg,” Max scoffed in disbelief as Giovanni returned a plain look. “You’re a gay man why would you read straight porn?”  
Gio’s eyes were absent of any type of emotion, staring blankly, “any hole is a goal, sometimes.”  
Max simply sighed, as if this was the most normal sentence to meet the air, “let’s avoid the erotica section.”  
They stalked every section of the quirky, quiet shop, the only noise often being Gio excited squeal when grasping a book he had wanted to read but was yet to. Max smiled in adoration at every hushed grapple for his attention, pointing at a book in pure ecstasy.  
Max wasn’t certain why he was so surprised, he supposed that he assumed the age divide was so blatantly obvious that Giovanni was unable to take pleasure in anything that didn’t require a charging cable.  
They abandoned the book shop with a weighty bag in hand and a grinning Giovanni, his smile plastering from ear to ear.  
They moved quickly through the bursting city, attempting to get back to the hotel, as both an eager Giovanni and exhausted Max were in desperate need of comfort.  
As the entered the once abandoned lavish lair of a hotel room, Giovanni sighed placing his bag on the floor, opting to move into the bathroom, quickly and quietly.  
Max shuffled awkwardly around the room, picking up and replacing the discarded articles of clothing that Giovanni had decided wasn’t suitable for a casual coffee date.  
The younger man emerged from the bathroom, clad in a silk robe adored with flowers of every shade, casually selecting a book and a bottle of wine from the mini bar, and strolling to the balcony, closely followed by Max.  
Giovanni was lounging, regally, with a book perched in his hands, as his eyes paraded along every letter printed on the pages. Max took a seat, next to him, opening a random book and faux reading the lines, too focused on the way Giovanni stretched erotically next to him.  
“How long have you been reading?” Max questioned, desperate to slaughter the silence, yet when he’s met with a bemused grin he instantly regretted his choice of words.  
“I think I learnt to read when I was five, around the age most children pick up a book,” Giovanni smirked, returning his eyes to the page, disregarding the blushing man next to him.  
“No, no, I meant when did you get so…invested in reading?” Max rephrased, scraping his chair across the floor of the balcony, in a desperate attempt to move closer to the occupied man.  
“Sharon liked me reading, it kept me quiet in a way that didn’t, what were her words?, ‘ shit on my creativity.’ So from the age I could read, I was,” Giovanni sighed, turning to face the older more flustered man. “If you want to skip to the sex and forget this awkward conversation, feel free.”  
Max was undoubtable taken back at the emotionless blunt familiarity of Gio’s tone; he hadn’t intended to to allude to an sexual endeavours and he was definite in the fact that he didn’t want Giovanni to think that was the only thing he wanted.  
“That’s not what I’m hinting at, I mean I’m happy to chat about…books,” Max smiled, attempting to channel all of the sincerity in his body, yet he’s met with a rolling pair of eyes.  
Giovanni stood, abruptly, discarding his book and moving towards Max, smirking, planting himself in Max’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck.  
“I wouldn’t mind, if that’s what you want,” Giovanni smirked, brushing his head into the nook of Max’s neck causing him to shudder.  
“I mean, it’s not t-the…only thing I, uh, want,” Max stuttered, feeling insecurely small under the hold of the younger man; he cursed himself for always being the small prey crawling into the the palm of a predator’s paw.  
“But you do want to,” Gio smiles softly against his neck, thus causing an eruption of goosebumps to scatter across Max’s skin. Max simply nodded, feeling his throat tightened at the concept of uttering those words. “Then lets do it.”  
Max’s eyes widened, staring in confused awe, his mouth jittering, yet no sound escaped; the looming lover smirked, towering above Max, safely in his lap, he whispered a soft, “please.”  
All Max could think to do was utter a simple, “here, on the balcony.”  
“Well, don’t you want to cum with a view of the Eiffel Tower?” Gio smiled softly, allowing his lips to softly fall on Max’s lips, embracing them in a slow declaration of passion.  
The kiss became more heated, Max’s mouth moving faster, desperately attempting to commemorate the feeling, texture, pressure of Giovanni’s lips on his own, the feeling of his hands trailing through his hair, incase this was all a cruel delusion.  
Max was too enthralled in the coiling passion in his stomach, seeping south, to notice Giovanni pulling at his shirt until the material blocked his touch to the younger man’s lips; suddenly, it seemed real.  
“Wait,” Max exhaled, his lungs burning sourly, Gio’s eyes met his in an abrupt panic. “I’m not prepared, I haven’t got lube or condoms, have you even…when I pictured this there were candles and everything.”  
Gio let out a bemused chuckle, moving his hand to stroke, a slightly anxious, Max’s face, “I have it all under control. As much as a would love to hear what you pictured for our first time, I’d rather live it.”  
Max watched, confusion consuming too much of his brain to allow it to send any instructions to his body, as Giovanni arose from his seat on Max’s lap, moving towards the balcony door, before pausing to turn to Max.  
“Are you coming or?” Giovanni smiled, a glimmer glimpse at a warmth, he didn’t show to many, shining through.  
“Uh, yeah, of course,” Max stumbled, cursing himself yet again for his shameful vulnerability.  
Gio simply rose an eyebrow, shifting through the moving to the bag e had discarded hours ago, and extracted something from the front pocket.  
Max stood awkwardly in the corner of the room that now felt infinitely bigger; although, Max couldn’t be certain if that was contributed by his ever-shrinking frame.  
Giovanni threw a pocket sized bottle of lube and a single condom on the bed, smirking as his eyes met Max’s wide caramel irises.  
“I told you not to worry,” The younger man smiled, treading carefully to the still unmoving man. “Are you going to kiss me or am I going to have to do everything?”  
“I mean, uh, shouldn’t we talk about it first?” Max stuttered, causing the once confident man to recoil in disappointment.  
“I’d rather do than talk,” Gio sulked, moving away from Max. “But I’ll listen.”  
“Okay,” Max smiled, moving to sit next to Gio, pulling him gently to perch in his lap. “I just want this to be as comfortable and pleasurable for you as it can be; but you need to be sure.”  
“I am certain, Max, I have been certain for a while now,” Giovanni rolled his eyes, yet Max felt the body above him relax, allowing him to be cradled.  
“Okay, I just wanted you to be sure,” Max smiled, urging Gio to move so he’s straddling the older man, who simply smiles and connects their lips in an initial soft embrace. “Let me lead you.”  
Max rejoins their lips, allowing the kiss to become more passionate and sloppy, Giovanni whimpering as Max nippled at his body lip softly. Max placed his hadst softly on Gio’s hips, guiding them to move slowly, causing Giovanni to take the hint, immediately grinding down slowly, teasing Max, whom admittedly was not amused.  
“Don’t run before you can walk, you tease,” he scolded, placing a light slap on Giovanni’s thigh.  
Giovanni simply cocked an eyebrow and moved his hips lightly, earning a heated sigh from Max.  
“I think you’re underestimating me, baby,” the younger man cooed. “Now, let’s get you undressed.”  
Max felt the instant power shift, but found the feeling of the authority being snatch from his grasp weirdly erotic; but placed i down to simply wanting whatever made the younger man feel comfortable.  
Max allowed Gio to pull him out of his t-shirt, throwing it to a random location on the floor, before clasping his lips to Max’s neck and sucking, liking and nippling soft purple blurs on his skin.  
Gio detached his lips from Max’s collar, earning a groan of complaint, unwrapping his robe, letting it fall to the floor, before running a hand through his hair, causing his dark locks to tousle.  
The authoritative man’s long slim hands quickly set to work on the submissive shrinking violet’s trousers, causing Max to flinch.  
“What are you doing, Gio?” Max asked, attempting to sound confident yet it escaped as a whimper.  
The younger man’s eyes met Max’s, as he simply pulled Max’s jeans away from his muscular legs, moving his hand to touch him through his boxers.  
“I’m making you hard, apparently,” Gio smirked, feeling Max harden, at an embarrassing rate, under his fingers.  
Max, usually, would roll his eyes as any coy remark throw at him, however, instead, he sucked in a breath, allowing Gio to lower his head and slowly lick his erection through the bottom material of his boxers, over the small stain that has already appeared.  
“Please, Gio,” Max whined, sighing in relief as the younger man freed him of his boxers, and proceeding to lick the tip lightly with the tip of his tongue, applying more pressure when Max released a moan.  
“Come on Gio,” Max groans, worried that he’d put on an embarrassing show of cumming on the spot, if the younger man continued. Max pulled the younger man towards him.  
“How do you want to do this?” Max asked warmly, moving to grab the once discarded lube on the bed. “Would you feel more comfortable if I did it or do you want to do it yourself? Have you done it before?”  
I mean, I do it sometimes, to see what it feels like,” Gio smiled a shy glimmer of a smile, moving closer to Max, hovering above him in his underwear, feeling far superior to his lover. “However, I think it would be more…romantic and whatnot, if you did it.”  
Max smiled the type of grin a cat that had stolen food from the dinner table would sport, a devilish image making itself prominent in his mind.  
“You finger yourself when you masturbate?” Max asked slowly, smiling coyly. “Have you ever thought of me?”  
Giovanni let out a hearty cackle, “You wish, sweetheart.”  
“I’ve though of you,” Max confessed, smirking, as a visible shiver ran through the younger man’s body. “So, I’ll ask again, have you thought of me when you cum?”  
“Maybe once or twice, does that satisfy you, Maxwell?” Giovanni retorted, catching the older man be surprise.  
Max was uncertain when his attempt at sickly sweet vanilla sex became a tennis match of power-hungry statements, but it caused his cock to twitch whenever Giovanni threw something back at him.  
“Get on the bed, on your hands and knees,” Max commanded with calming care. “Oh and strip yourself of your underwear, please.”  
Max watched, an adoration masking his eyesight, a sort of rose tinted glass, as Giovanni slowly pulled his boxers down his toned thighs, revealing his naked body to the amber rays of the setting sun, peering through the window, before clambering onto the bed, on all fours; parading himself in such a obscenely and erotic way, that Max had to hold back a whine.  
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Gio,” Max whispered, almost scared that his admittance would evoke mockery; it simply caused a smile from Giovanni and a small, “thank you.”  
Max moved closer, clasping the small bottom of lube, hesitating to open it. Instead, he moved behind the awaiting, alluring man, embracing him softly, allowing himself access to Giovanni’s dick.  
The younger man let out a low sigh as Max began to trace the head of his cock, causing sensitive jolts of electricity to spiral his body as he hardened rapidly.  
“Uh, Max,” Gio groaned, thrusting into his hand, slightly, causing Max to wrap his hand round his cock, stroking him until he was completely hard.  
“I’m going to start now, okay? It’ll feel a bit…awkward but it’ll get better, I just want you to feel good,” Max cooed, moving away to slick his fingers with the cold lubricant. “Also it’s cold so, just a warning, but it’ll be worse if you don’t relax.”  
Max put excess on his pointer and middle finger, and bringing his finger to circle Gio’s tight ring of muscle, earning a shocked whimper and a shiver; Max watched as the muscle tensed.  
“Okay?”  
“It’s just cold,” the vulnerable vision whispered, causing a cackle from Max.  
“I warned you, princess,” Max mocked affectionately, earning a small pout from the man beneath him.  
“I’m going to insert a finger, okay?” Max was cautious to give Giovanni warning, allowing him to brace himself.  
“Don’t sound so clinical, Max,” Gio scolded lightly, attempting to ease the anxious man.  
Max laughed silently, allowing his middle finger to circle the muscle once more before pushing in, slowly, eliciting a small wounded whimper from the younger man.  
“Do you want me to stop?” Max asked, cautiously, with a sense of worry cutting through his tone.  
“No no, keep going, add another, please,” Max relished in how desperate Gio sounded, purely because of him; he felt his heart lighten and his cock twitch at the heavy whimpering that ensued as he inserted another finger, moving slowly.  
Max was slow, carefully working Gio open, curling his fingers slightly to pleasure the man beneath him more; it was only when Gio started to push desperately against his fingers that he started to apply sporadic pressure, moving his fingers faster, earning broken moans and mumbled from Giovanni mouth.  
Max quickly slid a third slick finger in, next to the others, causing a pleasurable prickling pain to engulf Gio’s body yet he found himself begging for more, “Fuck me, Max, I want you. Now.”  
“Fuck, Gio,” Max mumbled, his cock started to strain with arousal. “Okay, I think it will be better if…you go on top.”  
“Is it because you’re old so you’re tired, already?” Gio chuckled, lightening the mood infinitely from the controlled and contrived tension that was evident at the start.  
You’re a cheeky bastard,” Max laughed, bringing his hand down to spank Gio’s pale ass, lightly, earning a choked moan.  
“Do that again, please,” Gio found himself begging, pleading, thrusting his ass backwards in an attempt at persuading Max to spank him.  
Max paused, confused, yet found himself slapping the pale skin again, with more force, earning another obscene moan and a reddening patch of skin.  
Giovanni stood, abruptly, on shaking legs, moving quickly to push the older man onto the bed.  
Suddenly, Max was painfully aware of the change in authority.  
“Gio, remember the condom,” Max smiled, reassuringly as his statement made the younger man falter.  
Gio’s hands made quick work of nimbly rolling the condom onto Max’s cock, quick followed by the lube, which he was certain to massage lightly when applicating.  
“Now, just lower your-“ Max was cut short by a stern voice.  
“Baby, I know what I’m doing, if I need help I’ll ask, okay?” Gio sighed, crawling onto Max’s lap, hovering close to his mouth. “I want some type of control.”  
Gio allowed Max to help align themselves, however as Gio started to lower himself, a burning stretch consuming his body, aching in his limbs, Max allowed him to take control; he relaxed, attempting to focus on the intense tension around his cock, infusing his body with a deep pleasure.  
“Does it feel okay?” Max managed to mumble, as Gio paused, taking only a few inches.  
“Yeah, it just burns a little, but…I-I like it,” Gio groaned, moving painfully slow  
Max reached a hand to slowly stroke Gio cock, attempting to relief his strain and distract his mind from the intense pleasure, pushing back his orgasm.  
Gio’s whimpers hit the air, repeatedly; every small “Max,” or “fuck,” reassuring the older man to begin thrusting to meet Gio’s movements. Max’s movements were soft and slow, taking ease as if the slightest heavy handed movement would crack the ice sculptor above him.  
“Harder, baby, come on,” Gio panted, the initial stretching burn had been replaced with fragments of infinite pleasure and the slightest sting, which simply urged Gio’s hips to continue at a rapid pace.  
Max was too focused on the shear sight of the younger man, usually so pristine and perfect, coming undone above him, throwing his head back with every thrust, his eyes welded shut, to hear the words Giovanni was saying.  
“Look at me, Gio,” Max commanded, holding back moans. “Look at me while I fuck you.”  
Giovanni’s eyes fluttered open, however they were different; they usual cold charcoal orbs had softened and the sight made Max’s stomach fizz fervently.  
Max’s hips thrusted harder, causing a bubbling sensation of heat to form in his lower abdomen.  
“We need to slow down or I’ll cum, G-gio,” Max stammered, trying to hold back the persistent tingling that started in his toes, making his way slowly up his body.  
“Cum for me, Max,” Gio cooed, yet his tone was purely erotic and made the tingling even more intense, as the dominant man clenched around Max’s cock, spurring him to the edge.  
“I’m going to…fuck,” an abundance of curse words and mumbles fell from his mouth, like discarding thoughts, rapidly hitting the air as he reached climax.  
Gio smiled, moving through Max’s orgasm softly, slowing down, and eventually climbing off of Max, seething at the loss.  
Max pulled the condom off, discarding it in the nearest waste bin.  
“Should I finish myself or?” Gio’s voice rang softly in the room, returning Max’s attention to him.  
“No no, I’ll do it,” Max smiled, moving in-between Gio’s legs, grabbing the once discarded lube, again.  
Max poured additional lubricant to his fingers, softly circling the still, slightly stretched muscle, causing the younger man to whimper in frustration.  
“Come on, don’t be a tease, Max, I was getting close,” Gio scolded, but his tone had no conviction as Max didn’t hesitate to insert two fingers, curling them as he moved.  
“Please, fuck…there, baby,” Max was too consumed by staring at the younger man, lying perfectly, immaculately, on the bed, with his fingers inside him, to care about the porn dialogue.  
Max continued to move his hand, lowering his tongue to lick the tip of Gio’s erection, wasting no time taking it in his mouth, earning a hiss from the man beneath him.  
“I’m close.”  
Max’s fingers and mouth worked desperately, wanting to make the man beneath him feel as good as possible, drinking in any whimper or signal of pleasure.  
It didn’t take long for the violent prickling of pleasure to consume the younger man’s body, causing him to climax in Max’s mouth; who swallowed, eager to impress the younger man.  
Taking his fingers out of the younger man, Max rolled over, ready to allow sleep to consume him however he was stopped by a small voice, “Max?”  
“Hmmm?”  
“My legs are tired but I wanna, like, clean up, can you carry me to the bathroom?” Gio soft voice slurred into the silence. “Please?”  
Max smiled, replying silently, moving to pick the younger man up, bridal style, padding to the bathroom.  
“Don’t worry, I should clean up too. Shall I run a bath?” Max inquired, placing a wincing Giovanni down on the toilet, moving to turn on the taps.  
“That sounds like bliss.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What should be a milestone in their agreement could become the nail in the coffin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, she's finally back! Here's the filler chapter that allows it all the unravel later. I hope you enjoy and leave me a comment because it's the only thing keeping these chapters coming, honestly.  
> Also, get ready for more emotional trauma.

Max was awoken to a continuous and demanding tapping on the door of their hotel room; which evidently had stirred Giovanni also as the figure next to him slipped out of the covers and padded to the door, pulling on his robe as he hobbled.   
The sound of a latch unlocking and the door wheezing open filled the silenced room and Max pondered on what had happened last night; of course his mind was far from foggy and it didn’t take long for every memory to present itself in painful force.   
They had slept together, bathed together and slumbered together and it had rectified every need Max had been presented with, yet the dynamic felt different, as to be expected; Max felt shameful, he had disobeyed Katelyn and thus landed himself in a compromising situation, but when reflecting on the night, the bubbling giddy sensation in his stomach fizzled with fervent force.   
So, Max continued to lay in his, now, empty bed, as the younger man inspected the source of the tapping.  
“Gio, my darling, I bet you didn’t expect to see me,” a drowsy cackle filled the hotel room, followed by a hushing, “quiet, some people are asleep.”  
“It’s noon, I remember being a teenager, staying up late and sleeping in, I haven’t slept past eight a.m in years,” The voice sniggered again, husky but high-pitched, a voice Max couldn’t place. “People to meet, money to make, churches to burn; I lead a busy life.”  
“That, I am sure,” Gio’s voice was frozen back to his long forgotten bitter tone, snapping responses on command. “I didn’t expect to see you.”  
“Maybe if you answered my calls every once and a while you would’ve known,” The voice replied, not shy of snapping back at the cold man. “Now, are you going to let me in?”  
“No, I’m afraid now is not the best of times, the room is a mess and what not,” Gio’s coldly calm voice replied, earning a simple sigh and a shuffling of feet upon carpet, which Max assumed was the woman entering regardless of the young man’s wishes.  
“For fucks sake, why can’t you just listen to me,” an exasperated voice hit the room coldly and Max sat up.  
He was met with a rather eccentric woman, posed at the foot of the bed he occupied, her scarlet lips painted in a smirk.  
“Now really isn’t a good time, hm?” She smiled, coyly, moving back to a scowling sculptor of Gio, who appeared to be an observer of the current situation instead of a character playing a part, leaving Max to respond to the woman.  
“Hello?” Max attempted to confidently address the woman, yet the words escaped his mouth as a question, and she quirked an eyebrow, ignoring his welcome.  
“Boyfriend, friend or employee?” She mockingly questioned, turning to Giovanni, who casted his eyes to Max, before snapping them back to the woman, who was absentminded fixing her checkered blazer, rising an eyebrow at him.  
“Maxwell, is a friend, the hotel accidentally booked us this room, I slept on the sofa,” Gio retorted, yet Max noticed the way his eyes couldn’t reach his own, as they burnt a confused simmer into his head.  
That bastard.   
“Well, Gio, I suggest you and your friend get dressed, we’re going for lunch, which I suppose is breakfast for you,” She replied shortly, before turning to face Max once more. “I’m Sharon, Giovanni’s mother by the way. Boo.”  
She said no more but the silence followed her, shattering any sense of easy quietness within the room, as Max’s eyes searched Giovanni, who was desperately avoiding his gaze.  
“Shall I take the sofa tonight or?” Max coughed, after a moment of silence, he earned an eye roll in reply, as the younger man shuffled back to his side.  
“I’m sorry, okay? She doesn’t know I’m gay,” Gio sighed, earning a short, breathy chuckle from the man beside him.  
“Gio, she questioned if I was your boyfriend,” Max smiled simply, attempting to convey whatever decaying scrap of empathy he had left for the trust fund twink. “She knows you’re gay. She is also probably aware of the fact we slept together last night, and the fact that you did not sleep on the couch, you damn liar.”  
The younger man appeared timid under Max’s watchful eye, adverting his irises to meticulously study his finger nails, scraping at the skin around his nail bed as he spoke, “I shall rephrase: I haven’t told her yet, I want to do it properly and not insist on her deciphering it. I apologise, however, I want to remember Paris, and y-you, as a happy time; so, please leave this until we’re back in New York, it’s only a few days.”  
“Fine,” Max sighed, pulling the protective sheets away from his naked body, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, ignoring the way the previous preoccupied eyes trailed their way across his body. “Consider it postponed.”  
“Well, shall we get back to having a happy time in Paris, my love?” The usual sensual slur had returned to the milky marvel’s tone, causing a short-lived shiver to travel the length of Max’s spine.   
Max adored and loathed this perplexing shift in situation; he adored the younger man’s body and wanted to touch it in anyway possible yet he had this undeniable sinking feeling that this was the end result of their relationship. There was nothing but this.   
“Shall we get ready to meet your mother for lunch?” Max deflected, quickly standing, using his hands to mask his vulnerable body, and diving to find a suitable outfit.  
The younger man sighed, in simple boredom, striding to his suitcase, catching Max’s eyes as he moved, “maybe later.”  
They dressed quickly, avoiding catching glimpses of` the other man, and left the room in a hurried silence; Max thought Sharon seemed an impatient woman but he had no desire to conclude his hypothesis.   
They were greeted by a small man, wearing a uncomfortably stuffy looking suit, who simply beamed a knowing smile to Giovanni, who guided Max to the man.  
“Ah, Mr Giovanni, your mother is waiting, follow me to the car.”  
“Thank you Birdie,” the younger man replied sweetly, before turning to Max with a stupid smile parading itself on his lips. “His name’s Birdie.”  
Max followed them silently, studying the way the younger man morphed in the presence of characters so familiar to his childhood; he stood straighter, took considerable effort to talk in crystal clear syllables and walked in a rigid stumble, his flamboyant fluent moves long forgotten. Max’s mind couldn’t fathom why. Why the younger man was so hellbent on portraying a character so painfully different to the man Max knew; however, Max wasn’t certain if this cold character or his Gio was the concocted imposter.   
The ride was short and fleeting, however Max treasured the short moments of reality, the real reason he came to Paris daintily holding a champagne flute, leaning freely towards Max as he spoke softly, as if every word from his mouth was highly confidential.  
“My mother is…flamboyant, as you gathered from this morning, so feel free to be yourself,” his words had a biting tone of worry, and Max held his tongue as not to accuse Gio for not taking his own advice. “She can be rather…blunt with her questioning but she simply wants to…size you up, I suppose. She’ll like you. She may bring Alaska with her, she may not, she’ll be an easier person to converse with.”   
“Gio, why am I meeting your parents?” Max pondered aloud, causing a explanatory smile form the man across from him.  
“Because Max,” he paused to sip the silver bubbles of his champagne, attempting to create tension. “They want to meet you, and I don’t question my mother.”  
Max’s mind buzzed with the concept on being quizzed by a woman he has never met who had raised a man he had barely grasped, yet slept with the night before, as they trotted into the restaurant, of which Max knew his chosen pink button up shirt would contrast vastly to the slick, black interior.   
They need not ask names as sharon personally approached the pair, beaming in an almost disconcerting manner at Max; a manner that reaffirmed, at least in the illogical crooks and crannies of Max’s mind, that she knew. She knew everything and he didn’t wish to know her opinions.  
“Well, kiddo, it’s nice to meet you with your nipples covered,” Sharon cackled, reaching a welcoming hand to clasp his shoulder, guiding both Max and her son to an isolating table, accommodated by a thin blonde woman.   
“Hiiieeee,” she cheered, waving her hand in a sophisticated flap, beaming as Gio moved to hug her. “Gio, you look more handsome everyday, why do you never call us, hmm?”   
He simply smiled his charismatic smile, forming a charming, “I’ve been busy, Alaska, I apologise.”  
Sharon tightened her grip on Max’s shoulder, evidently feeling the overwhelming hostility battering her vigorously from a cold Giovanni. Max felt sorry for her. He felt sorry, however, his curiosity  
triumphed over his sympathy as he made a mental note to casually inquire into the dampened relationship the awkward pair shared.  
“Lasky, this is Maxwell,” Sharon smiled warmly, however the bitting undertones of tension failed to melt. “he’s Gio friend. They’re spending the weekend in Paris; they took the plane out Friday and plan to return?”  
“Tomorrow,” Gio muttered, his voice devoid of emotion, as instead of greeting eye contact with Sharon he turned his attention to Max. “What do you want Max, I’ll order.”   
“Give the poor kid a chance to read the menu,” Sharon scolded, eliciting an eyeball from the cold creature. “There is no rush, we’re having a nice family dinner, which is far fucking overdue, with your friend, you don’t need to hurry everything in your damn way.”  
A silence ensues, eight eyes scanning their competitors until a small voice broke the tension.  
“I’ll have a Caesar salad,” Max said.  
Gio smiled, a mutual agreement sighed between the two: to get out of there as soon as possible.  
Giovanni arose from the table, casting a thankful smile to the older man, whom also attempted to rise to his feet, but was stopped by a perfectly manicured hand.  
“Why don’t you stay here Max,” Sharon smiled, the sort of smile that commands. He sat still.  
“So how long have you been friends with Giovanni, Max?” Alaska questioned softly, smiling a toothy grin.  
Max cocked his head; he’d expected questioned yet now, without his safety blanket, even the simplest of questions hurt his brain, scrambling for answers he know but couldn’t fathom.  
“A month…two months? I’m not certain exactly,” Max smiles weakly, watching as Alaska’s brown eyes curiously stared back at his own.  
“Well, how did you meet?” Sharon inquired, causing Max to shrink into himself.  
How does he explain? How does he even start to approach the subject? He knew that logically they had no idea, however, the way Sharon looked knowingly, shimmering a stare deep into Max’s optic nerve, told him the entire trip had been documented by the pair.  
“We met through a friend, we have similar interests,” Gio sighed, his voice shaking with an unplaceable emptiness.  
Sharon’s mouth motioned an attempt at furthering her investigation, however Alaska’s scolding gazed stopped her abruptly, causing the table to, once again, fall into silence.   
Max found himself scrapping the bowl of his brain, praying for a concept to form into a conversation.  
“When did you get Gio?” Having grabbed the first idea, the words tumbled out of Max’s mouth, causing Max to instantly regret his choice of words and the young subject’s eyes flashed violently.  
“Get? I’m not a dog,” Gio attempted to chuckle, but his laughter strained with a sense of, what Max could only place as, biting insecurity.   
“Gio joined our family when he was five,” Alaska beamed, resting a soft hand on his shoulder, as Sharon joined the conversation.  
“He was the biggest star in that place, right kiddo? There’s only one Giovanni Palandrani,” her statement earned a smile from Gio, however the spark didn’t reach his eyes.  
Max just didn’t understand, Sharon seemed kind and powerful and he couldn’t place why there was such a sense of tension when she opened her mouth.   
His thoughts were cut short as an attractive man, around Gio’s age, approached the table, food in hand. He smiled, placing the plates in their reserved spaces, engaging in polite french chatter, before leaving the table in an awkward silence.  
Max grasped his cutlery, turning his full attention to his food, praying the rest of the table followed suit. They did not.  
“Maxwell, what is it you do?” Sharon inquired, causing Max’s head to snap away from his food.  
The shrinking violet’s eyes questioned Gio: What was his job?  
“Max does drag,” the nonchalant man stated, causing a slight choke from Max. He hadn’t expected honesty, never mind the blunt delivery of the truth.  
“Oooo, how fun!” Alaska smiles, reassuring Max infinitely; however, the questions did not cease. “How long have you been doing drag, Max? Do you perform?”   
“Only a few years, I suppose I’m rather new to the scene and…um, I haven’t been working a lot recently so,” Max sheepishly replied. Sharon raised an eyebrow at his last statement, spurring Max to continue his answers. “I do perform…in clubs.”  
“He performs well; a reasonable dancer, a better actor, you’d enjoy it, mom,” Gio sharply concluded.  
“I’m sure I would,” Sharon smiled, however it was only momentary, as her question fell deafeningly upon the table. “Is that what you want to do with the rest of your life?”   
Max opened his mouth, but words failed him, resulting in him snapping it shut instantaneously.  
If he were to say he “had never truly considered it,” he’d be an impeccable liar. He considered it often; restless nights in tousled bedsheets, it played continually on his mind. Max adored Miz Cracker and the woman he had created but he couldn’t picture them marrying a man. He couldn’t picture his husband, Cracker and himself raising children one day. She was fun, even necessary, now but he couldn’t spend his life hiding in the character of a mythical woman. However, this conclusion caused more ugly woodworms to emerge from the woodwork: Max was highly unemployable, not because he was unqualified, simply based on the fact he could only work for his passion; he’d become bored, complacent, in a field he did not adore.  
Sharon appeared to register Max’s turmoil, sealing her question with the explanation, “Well, drag is art, but an artist must adapt his art or else it will become tired. Hell, I don’t even remember the industry I started in.”  
“I enjoy writing,” Max spluttered, causing Gio to turn his attention from his own salad. “I’d love to write some articles or something.”  
“Hell, that’s an idea, I’ve never written anything yet!” Sharon cackled in a charming acceptance, that filled Max with such a sense of achievement that he chose to ignore the eye roll it earned for the milky marvel.  
The rest of the meal crawled along in silence, only a few questions, that were met by short responses, transpired and the four found themselves with a lack of things to say.   
Max wasn’t certain of the reason behind the sour sense of discomfort of the table, yet, he never tried to alter it; he simply ate his food, answered questions and followed Giovanni’s actions. Therefore, when Gio stood from his chair, declining dessert, and making a dash to evacuate the scene, Max followed.   
They escaped quietly, with only a hug from Alaska and a raised eyebrow from Sharon, yet there was no hope of escaping the prickling silence that filled the limousine, seeming to concave the trust and communication that had been nurtured over the past months.   
It wasn’t until they had returned to the safe quarantine of their hotel room that discussion was able to infect the pair.  
“Your parents seem nice,” Max said woodenly, watching the obviously flustered man sulking to the bed. “Sharon seems nice, and Alaska, you have a lovely family.”  
“I’m sure my mother seems nice, it’s different when she’s raised you,” He replied shortly, pulling his shirt over his head and turning to Max, a blank expression plastering his face. “Shall we fuck or do you have plans for the day?”  
The curious man ignored his comment, deciding to timidly ask, “Why don’t you like your mother? It was awkward today and I just wonder why? You don’t have to tell me but I’m just…”  
“I don’t dislike her,” Gio growled slightly, instantly regretting his choice of tone as he observed Max’s face morph into apprehension. “I love Sharon, but it’s complicated…our relationship.”  
There was a pause, and both men were painfully aware of Max weighing up his options; delicately choosing his words. Gio felt infinitely guiltier as he watched Max open his mouth, before promptly shutting it, folding in deliberation.   
“Have you ever…been shown up by someone? Maybe you’ve, I don’t know, you’ve studied incredibly hard and scrapped the grade you wanted and then someone else easily excels your grade without the slightest hint of effort? That embarrassing hot flush that settles in your stomach is living with Sharon.” Giovanni sighed, moving towards Max. “Anything I did was never good enough; it was more dance practices and scolds of, ‘I didn’t get here by slacking,’ she meant well and she was fun on days out and she was my claim to fame in middle school but now she’s just a reminder that I’ll always be in her shadow. When photos of me are printed in magazines it ‘Sharon Needles’ son’ I’m not my own person to anyone but you.”   
Max attempted, with a determined force, to relieve Giovanni with a shred of sympathy, however he was met with not a morsel and his inner search was fruitless. Max felt irritated, if anything, with the concept of Giovanni feeling disadvantaged by his childhood; Max had worked since the day he was old enough, finding odd jobs around his neighbour’s houses, in hopes of buying a new bike, yet he never had earned enough and his parents refused to waste money on luxuries. Giovanni’s life had been luxuries from the minute he woke up until his pretty little head met the soft silk of his pillows.   
“Forget it, you wouldn’t understand, I’m sure,” Gio exhaled, sitting on the bed in dramatic fashion, eliciting an eye roll from Max.  
“No, I don’t understand the absolute difficulty of never working a day in your luxury life, Giovanni, I truly don’t understand,” The agitated man quipped, instantly holding the undivided attention of the room.  
“I didn’t mean it like that, Max, you know that,” Gio replied softly, unaware of the envy he had created in Max.  
“No, I’m sick of this; I’ve never been so painfully aware of your arrogance,” Max spurted, his mouth working before his mind. “You know what? I was looking forward to meeting your family, I was excited to meet the people who raised your ungrateful ass, why? Because I give a shit about you, goddamit, I actually care about you, a lot, and when you’re like this it gives me an insight into what you’re really like.”   
“Can we do this another time?” Giovanni inquired quietly, his vulnerability in his voice shaking the room in a short considering silence.  
“No,” Max answered, monotone and bored. “We can’t leave everything until we get home, I can’t turn my feelings off for a day and as soon as we’re back in America I just open up again. It irritates me when you take for granted what you have; my parents couldn’t even afford to buy me toys growing up, that’s a struggle you’ll never know. I enjoy your company, but not when you act like this.”  
Gio released a dry laugh, “I buy your company, I fucking know you enjoy it.”   
Max stood, an astounding silence pounding against his ear drums, he could read the regretful irises of the man opposite him, these eyes were once familiar but he could no longer recognise them.  
“Is that how you really feel?” Max quietly questioned, maintaining eye contact with the sorry man, whom replied with a shake of his head. “Then why did you say it?”  
“I don’t know, Max, I really don’t, I-I just said it, I didn’t mean it,” He spluttered a cowardly response, however Max had heard enough.  
“No, you wanted to hurt me, Giovanni,” Max replied, his voice devoid of emotion. “And that is why I’m going to bed.”  
“We have so much of the day left, we could see the rest of Paris, do anything you want, please,” Giovanni pleaded, his voice deteriorating as he trailed away, desperately. “We should have another look around that book shop, maybe grab a cup of coffee, we could have fun.”  
“I just want to sleep, Giovanni, I’m tired and jet lagged, I’m finished,” Max curtly replied, moving under the covers.   
Silence fell upon the room and it become clear, conversation was not welcome that night. It only required an hour of staring plainly at the wall for Max to fall asleep, and Giovanni to retire to the sofa. It only took an hour for it to become clear that the dynamics had taken a painful switch and therefore it was different.


End file.
